Sticks And Stones
by Arianstar
Summary: The how is not my problem, I settled into my new life just fine. How do I deal with the fact that someone else has crashed into my safe world and I choose knowingly to aid them. I knew what kind of trouble followed Sherlock Holmes, why was I willing to follow him to the end or was this just the beginning?
1. The Introductory Splash-down

**_Don't own anything except original characters. All material (c) to respective owners. I write these for fun and make no profit. They're just random plot bunnies that live within my strange mind_**

A/N:_I don't honestly know how well this turned out. I went with my instinct and the characters took over from there. It isn't my usual fandom to write for and I'm trying it on for size. I though am an avid fan of Sherlock Holmes and plan to dabble in this area a little more if my imagination allows it. I hope you enjoy and thanks for_ reading.

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Introductory Splash-down  
**

I lost track of time and had little energy to go seeking out a paper. I had arrived here and stayed well hidden knowing my knowledge would get me little where else in the 1800's. I didn't relish the idea of going to an asylum of the time. Being well verse in history implied that I knew better- in fact I did and chose to remain as I was. Where it is? I could only guess. It was cold and I had survived by going into town on occasion and finding ways to barter for food. I built my shelter out of rags and hid well inside a cave near a cascading splash of water falls. It had been familiar and I eventually found out why. I had landed in a world I only knew from movies.

In the famed Sherlock Holmes world, of course anyone would be excited. Every fan girl dreams of this exciting adventure and unfortunately when it's real-the appeal is lost. I guessed by the part above me where an elegant building made for the rich idealist of this time meant something important is happening, however I found the thrill of investigating unwelcome. It was far easier to pretend that I wasn't lost in the 1800's living in a cave and verging on eccentric homeless lady living someplace in-well I wasn't exactly sure where. I knew it was cold, the mountains hid small villages and they spoke a language I didn't know.

I would have guessed somewhere near Switzerland but then again I wasn't the best in geography of the 1800's. Sighing I go out of the bitter cold in my small cave. I warm myself by the fire I fight to keep going and sit among the piles of old skins and blankets I had collected over time. It never ceased to amaze me how much you could find in a time that threw things out with out any sort of care.

Dozing near the fire I jerk alertly. Something louder than the steady splash of the falls gaining my attention, slowly I sit up listening but hear nothing more. Alright I admit I was a curious sort and didn't often pass up things like that, but I had learned to be careful what I go seeking. I try to return to sleep but can't shake the feeling I need to investigate. I knew roughly where I was, when I was but it didn't mean that I knew everything. If I did I wouldn't have been stuck in the 1800's trying to survive like some old homeless nut job in the mountains.

Snorting I stand pulling the warmth of the wool blanket tighter around myself and step to the cave edge. I stare out at countless hills and listen to the waterfall but nothing is out of place. Slowly I look up but nothing seems amiss above and the lights from the party seem to still be brighter than ever. Chewing my lip I contemplate going back into my make shift home, I think though my feet have other ideas. I begin to walk out into the cold; the wind is picking up and the sound of the water much stronger to my left.

I walk a few feet from my safe haven and again find nothing uncommon to the area. My breath curls in icy puffs from my mouth and I shiver, being cold far too common living here. I start to turn back to the cave before hearing something, if I hadn't known better I would have said someone was in the water. Only an idiot would swim in this weather, is my first of many sarcastic thoughts.

I begin to go back to the cave before thinking back to my own time. _"Wasn't there something involving falls?"_ I blink ignoring the sting of the cold air on my face. I wasn't an idiot by normal standards-at least I hoped not. Now though I felt silly thinking that this was at all close to the movies that had been made in my world. That would be an ill-advised thought, it would mean that either I find Sherlock Holmes washed up from an icy ending and lucky to survive or-I didn't want to think of Moriarty. That man I couldn't even fathom finding. He was as brilliant as Sherlock Holmes but a clear psychotic. Freud would have a field day analyzing that nut.

Turning I change my direction against my own judgment and walk slowly along the edge of the water. If anyone in fact did survive this water they would be lucky to make it much farther then the edge of the bank. Any farther and I would be astounded beyond words-which took a lot to do in most cases.

"Hello?" Feeling unbelievable dumb I walk along the freshly covered snowy ground making an uninterrupted trail along the river bank before covering my eyes against the snow blowing up around me. "Is there someone out there?"

_Thump_

I fall unexpectedly near the waters edge and just barely miss falling into it myself. I look at the source of my fall and swallow a shriek seeing a cold pale hand latched around my ankle. I have every horror movie and novel I've ever been introduced to going through my mind. Sitting up I reflexively turn grabbing onto the hand and reach blindly down finding another pulling the figure up onto the snow covered ground.

Flopping backwards at the effort I hear coughing before looking down to a soaked man lying among the snow and watch something fall loosely from his hand. Reaching out I pick up the odd object and twist it in the gloom not being able to really make it out. Putting it inside my heavy assortment of jackets I take off the blanket around my shoulders and wrap it around him quickly before he freezes to death. Struggling to get him to his feet I feel him lean heavily into me and start to guide him back to my cave, it wasn't like I could just leave the guy out here to die, I had a conscience for the most part.

Inside the cave I managed to get him situated by the fire before pilling more blankets on him and watch him closely. I didn't get a good look at him; the fear that I let a mad man into my sanctuary bothers me. The idea of said man dying out in the snow bothers me more. I reach inside my many layers and find the object twisting it in the light from the fire and with a dazed feeling I believe I know who I found.

"Unlikely." I say aloud before going to the task of trying to get the recued one dry.

I strip the blankets momentarily before at the most taking off the heavy sodden jacket and vest refusing to go any farther and easing more blankets around him getting him as dry as possible. I look around gathering some wool blankets and put them on him while I watch the figure sleep. I stare into the nothingness of black cave walls for a long time before he shifts in troubled slumber and is hit clearly with the fire light.

I blink astonished when I realize who it is. I can't believe that of all the bad luck I have had as of late I manage to find even more. Don't get me wrong, helping those in trouble wasn't a bad thing but helping him may have gotten me unwilling dragged into a world that I had only been privy to in books and movies. Shaking my head I groan glancing skyward and mutter unpleasantly "Why me?" before directing my attention to the figure I had currently in my home.

A mop of unruly wavy dark hair coves his face and a clear need for a good shave are evident. That had been the case in the movies, he looked so remarkably as the actor that portrayed him I would have thought I was in a movie if I hadn't known better. His lips had a blue tinge that thankfully was fading. I wasn't a doctor but I at least saved him from the idea of freezing to death. I sat up with a start-he fell from way up top, he would surely have more injuries than just the cold. Blushing I realize I will have to examine him further whether I like it or not, it wouldn't do well for the famous detective to die from internal injuries while in my care. How would the movie end then?

Sighing I crawl over next to him and slowly lower the blankets trying my best to ease his shirt off of him and take note that he's well built, physical sound despite the clear injury to his shoulder which appears to have been spared during the fall despite heavy bruising marring his ribs and his good arm. I remember vaguely that Moriarty had put a hook through him and in doing so Holmes had succeeded in part of the undoing of his nemesis. I gently examine the bruises, from what I can guess there doesn't look to be any indication of blood. I wasn't a doctor but had volunteered in hospitals and animal clinics for the sheer enjoyment of being around kids and animals.

"I'm no expert but I think you will be fine." I whisper rummaging among my collection and tearing up some old rags making some bandages to hopefully dull the pain he was obviously in. "Rest easy, you're safe for now." Not like he would take comfort in that, but at least Moriarty wasn't trying to kill everything he cared about.

I keep him covered most of the night and despite examining him for more injuries I leave his trousers intact. Instead I feel through the fabric finding for the most part nothing amiss, one of his ankles is heavily swollen but that I can guess is a sprain. I see no bones or feell anything so gently wrap that as well. I'm still amazed he survive, but then again I had to consider who this was. A man that defined the odds by doing things others would deem impossible or insane.

I fell asleep watching over him, I didn't know how long I slept before I awoke to murmurs and groans of discomfort. Looking up I see he's coming around and hear him call out 'Watson' a couple of times. I believe he is mistaking my care meaning that Watson had found him after his daring lunge to a possible death. I remain still barely breathing waiting for him to realize that isn't the case. I see him slowly shift among the pile of blankets surrounding him and watch him slowly sit up. He hisses painfully before laying back down and reaching down finding his ribs.

Feeling down his side he finds he is lacking his clothing and feels heavy fabric around his ribs. He deduces painfully that he was retrieved from the falls and with a little luck, survived the plunge. He thanks his quick thinking and his brothers oddities collection before attempting to sit up and finding it much to painful to do so. Taking a breath he is also aware that its cold, much too cold for him to be safely in Watson's care and clearly whomever did find him was close by. If they had intended to let him die they would have left him to freeze to death. What caught him off guard was the assortment of odors in the immediate area.

Hints of floral swept around him with the air being cool coming from something that flapped behind him. He guessed he was in a cave, the other scents being cooked food and blankets that were musty despite being cared for. He had heard a female voice before he blacked out which led him to guess where the floral scents had come from, other scents such as dried fruits and meets also greeted his nose.

Not knowing what to do I heard him groan in pain again and winced guessing he was far worse off than I knew. I only could do guess work not being properly trained in medical care. I knew basics, I had learned survival skills and now was present with the possibility he would either see me as an enemy or a puzzle to solve.

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes seeing like he had surmise cave walls and hints of ice that had been melting due to the warmth of the cave. "I don't know the precise details to my landing or how I got here, but I would like to know who you are. Obviously you are not John Watson and gathering by what I see you've been here for a while." I flinch at his soft tone, I could hear the pain in his voice and knew that talking was a chore if I had guessed right on how many ribs he had broken.

"I found you on the river edge," I hesitate knowing he would not hear an accent to my voice and wonder where I was from. "You grabbed me in an attempt to get out of the water. I brought you here and did what I could for your injuries. I'm not a doctor but am familiar with some things." I didn't answer his question much to his annoyance, though he could detect no threat in my voice.

Sincerity in a woman made him worry, actually most everything on women troubled him. He managed to at most turn his head blinded by the firelight and only finding a shadowed form tucked into the corner of the cave.

"You answered everything but who you are."

"I don't plan to say." My voice sounded strained much to his surprise, usually simple greetings were common. "How are you feeling?" I changed tact deciding I couldn't hide forever but for the moment I would play ignorant on some things.

"What I expected when I awoke, pain." She smiled his sarcasm and wit were still intact. "I would rather know who you are, I don't relish fighting in the condition I am because you are secretly waiting to finish my unwilling attempt to harm myself." I snort at this, it was pretty clear I had no intention of finishing what Moriarty and he had begun above.

"I don't plan to finish you off, I tried to help you and clearly you don't appreciate it." I crawl slowly to the fire putting more sticks and wood on it before catching dark eyes staring at mine. "Can you sit up on your own or would you like help?" I ask deciding that he's as insufferable as he is made out in the movies.

He doesn't answer considering how he feels. His whole side and back feel like he hit ever rock on his way to the water below. He however knew that hitting the water did equal damage to that ideal and had also had a clear fall to the falls below. He ignored the throbbing pain and tried to sit up finding that much to his displeasure it wasn't an easy nor manageable task. He winced giving into to remaining as he was staring up once again at the cavern walls and listening to the falls outside. They were still near to where he had taken Moriarty out and saved his dearest friends in the process.

"Can I help you?" I ask disregarding the look of contempt I receive and try not to smile. "Glare all you like, you can't lay there forever. You need food and water." I see him scowl but instead of refusing my help he allows me to ease him upright against a pile of blankets agains the cave wall and stares at me trying to figure out why I'm helping him.

I lower my eyes from his well aware of the fact that he would deduce more than what I wish for him to know and go back to the fire gathering some meats and water to put into a stew pot. In the meantime I manage to warm some tea for us both and am thankful that I managed to learn some things for trade. It had been easy to befriend the small towns widow and I had learned quickly to mend and do other womanly chores, though I found them boring compared to the thrill of running around the world when I had been working for historical museums and other crafts in that area.

**Sherlock's POV**

He had been surprised when she had come to aid him. In his experience it was easier to chase people away and do things on one's own, though she didn't seem to believe that. Not that he cared to feel like he needed to be coddled he had however managed to look into light colored eyes before they dropped from his. He had been watching her shadowed form and only caught sparing details, it seemed to be a game of her own making now that he observed the way she remained in the shadows.

What little he did make out from her was she was on the small side, loaded inside of several layers of clothing. She seemed tall but again he wasn't sure due to the fact he was now sitting up against a wall full of linnens and such propping him up. What he did catch was hints of golden strands of hair that seemed to line her face, small strands curly into her eyes making her often reach up pushing them aside. She appeared to have long hair that was on the wavy side and if he gathered correctly due to the firelight it was either red or blond.

She didn't seem out of place, she seemed at ease in the cave and surviving on her own without the care of a man to keep her safe. From what he had seen she seemed to live on her own terms, what he didn't understand was why it appeared she had only been in the cave for a short time and that she seemed out of place. Things about her didn't add up and that did not satisfy his mind or thirst for knowledge and the unsolved case or two to keep him going.

**Original POV**

I stir the stew realizing that he's studying me. I wasn't a total idiot and knew very well that I wouldn't be able to fool the neurotic genius. I could already guess I had little time before he began firing questions or found something not fitting in my way of life. I blink realizing that some of the effects I had with me from my own time were safely tucked away in a small bag someplace in the cave. I also felt like smacking myself because if I didn't know exactly where it was, he could very well find it. Though it wasn't incriminating to a point of technology, it was more the simplistic geek inside me. I had thrown in a few books and some art supplies before I found myself winding up in this time.

"Miss, how long have I been here?" Looking up I could see he was still observing me with the intensity of someone trying to solve a mystery.

"A full day and tonight," I answer daring to ask. "How did you end up diving into the water at such an obvious height?" he looked at me and then I saw that gleam like he had figured something out.

Sherlock liked the idea she had implied from a height, she knew more to his landing than she was implying. "I provided the only escape for a friend and ended a very intriguing man's idealisms with my own aspect of dragging the enemy down with me if I had to." I knew what he meant and returned my attention to preparing food and situating some hot tea in a cup for my current guest. "How did you know it was from a great height?"

I refuse to let him get to me and slowly crawl over handing him the cup of tea. I keep my gaze set of the fire before answering. In reality I'm trying to think of an answer that won't imply more than it should-not my finest point-, he's looking at me waiting patiently for the answer that I don't want to share.

"I heard a splash and assumed it was you…It was very loud." How do I keep up a charade when even I don't believe myself? "Sip slowly, it's hot."

**Sherlock's POV**

"I can tell by the steam and the hot feel of the cup in my hands." He sees her frown at his amused tone, clearly she isn't keen on his sense of humor which is mostly consistent of sarcasm and a bluntness that only seems effective on Watson who knows him well.

_"He's just as bad in person, though I guess it would be hard to deal with your best friend thinking you're dead."_ She didn't voice the thought aloud, the last thing she wanted to do was to make this more complicated. That would only make him ask more questions and seek answers she wasn't going to share on a bet.

He remained watching her seeing her purposely focus on other things. She seemed to be thinking, considering answers carefully and it only made him more curious. Things began to catch his attention around the cave. He could see clothing that had been mended put neatly aside, he saw an assortment of herbal mixes and other things that were set aside for trade. She may not have been there long but she had made a way to survive, she had a fire of her own rules and self. He could tell that society wouldn't deal well with whatever drove her. An idependance like that in any modern female would have men he knew cringing in distaste. That may have been what amused him most, that and the undeniable lack of information she was willing to give him.

**Original POV**

"What are you staring at?" Calmly I reach over stirring the food before grasping for the bowls at my side and handing him his first. "I don't feel that I'm all that interesting." I had almost said 'Mr. Holmes' luckily I caught myself.

"Contrary to your belief you are very thought-provoking miss." Rolling my eyes I half turn he's looking at the stew somewhat bewildered before I take a bite of my own implying I wasn't trying to poison him.

"You didn't seem half as worried over the tea." I noted seeing his eyes flicker to the liquid he had been sipping before his lips turn down into a scowl. "You are a very bewildering person." I said shaking my head surprise when he seems interested in something other than me for once.

I shrug attending to my own food before glancing at the tent flap and seeing that I should start my trip into town for supplies. I would need to trade for more food and I could guess maybe some healing medicines in case Sherlock was hurt more than I thought. I could also offer to deliver a message for him to let his friends know he was safe. It had been quite a while since I indulged in the movies and I was still missing pieces.

"I have to go into town. I'm going to get supplies, can I do anything for you while I leave you to rest?" I make it clear that 'rest' means exactly as implied, he is in no shape to go running off.

"I don't need to rest." He snaps sounding childish and it in turn makes me smile.

"You do, your ribs are broken and in case you failed to notice your ankle is sprained." He looked down forgetting that bit before giving her a dark look. "I don't plan on keeping you hostage, if you are fool enough to go out there be my guest. No one is stopping you." I remark coldly before going over and packing my things in a sack to go into town.

I don't know why I was angry, but the idea that someone so brilliant would expect to be able to do such things with his injuries annoyed me. I had heard of stubborn but he was just a miserable mulish man. He had survive a fall that no one usually would and now seemed content to further hurt himself. I had done my part, he could be obstinate and do whatever he pleased. My life was in enough disorder as it was, I didn't need to add Sherlock Holmes and his assortment of problems to mine.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes," I turn slowly seeing him offer his hand.

A change of tactic but nothing I could refuse, maybe that was the reason I liked him. He was undeniably persistent and irrational beyond measure with bad habits. He though was still a real person and even if I didn't fit in this strange world, he was the first person I had any sort of lengthy contact with since the widow. I much to my chagrin had begun to feel lonely out here in the middle of nowhere and now had little choice but to get used to someone around again.

"Isabella Gracen." So he had succeeded in learning my name, he would be in for a shock or two before I gave him more than that.


	2. Revelations

**_Don't own anything except original characters. All material (c) to respective owners. I write these for fun and make no profit. They're just random plot bunnies that live within my strange mind_**

A/N:_I don't honestly know how well this turned out. I went with my instinct and the characters took over from there. It isn't my usual fandom to write for and I'm trying it on for size. I though am an avid fan of Sherlock Holmes and plan to dabble in this area a little more if my imagination allows it. I hope you enjoy and thanks for_ reading.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Revelations  
**

If he is as brilliant as my time believed I couldn't hide for much longer and still had to find my belonging from my own time period in my assorted mess before he did. This just made my day-my sarcasm was not helping the situation at all. Having gathered the majority of things I needed I pause regarding his interested look before offering to do something if he needed it. He declined, however I don't think it will be that way forever, I knew something in the future would make me regret at all aiding him but then again my conscience usually did rule over any common sense I had-or was it my heart?

My trip into town took much longer than I expect. For the worst part of the trip I succeeded in finding my marked pathway blocked by recently fallen snow, small avalanches and other travels that seemed particularly interested in a woman on her own out in the snowy wilds. I had learned to deal with them in varying ways, not short of actually stabbing one in the arm for getting to wise. Most kept clear, I had created a reputation of being crazy and living out there made me dangerous. I valued that small bit knowing that in other cultures it would land me in a jail or worse.

"Morning Izzie." I cringe at the heavily accented voice once I do manage to get to the paths that led into the small village. "What you bring for trade today?" I look to the small shack off to the right of the small grouping of huts and trade stands waving to the elder widow that had guided me through my weeks of confusion.

The best way to describe her was round, not because she was heavy but because the layers she wore gave her the appearance of a bear in the winter. She had long gray hair and eyes that had a warmth that was hard to dislike, an open heart and way to make anyone feel safe despite whatever place they were from.

She still didn't know my ideal aspects of getting to where I am today, however she still helped and knew that I was of no threat to anyone. I walk to her and find myself pulled into a crushing hug-I wasn't a highly touchy feely person-she could have cared less and talked softly in a pleased accent before pulling back. I began to show her my various parcels and was greeted by those that had come to collect their mended clothing. I traded for foods, more materials to keep warm and some odds and ends for my current residential detective though I didn't know precisely why I cared.

"Now why did you not tell me you found a man?" I feel discomfort before forcing a smile seeing her dark eyes narrow and a warning frown crease her lips.

"I'm sorry Lilliana." I gently touch the heavy gray material of her mitten and make her look up at me. "He isn't my man, I am just helping him much like you did me." She seemed to brighten and look over me with a forgiving sort of look about her. "I also need some pain meds for treatment of said man. He's got a few bruises and is very grouchy." She laughs softly patting my cheek, I smile though the warmth of her gloves only remind me of how cold it is.

It doesn't take long for her to aid me in gathering the pain caring meds that I need for Sherlock. I also find myself with a few more supplies than I had expected courtesy of Lilliana and her need to protect those she had taken under her wing. I begin my long walk back to the cave, I don't fail to notice that it is getting gloomy meaning that I'm behind schedule and I can already gather that Sherlock Holms will be very petulant when I manage to get back.

I finally manage to get down to the river a ways away from my cave and walk. Someplace in my subconscious I guess I am looking for that other man that had the same nasty fall, however in his case I don't think he was half as brilliant at surviving it. I keep to the edge identifying nothing out of the ordinary and pause kneeling down where I had rescued Holmes the previous night. I seen several tracks and it was clear there had been people about but they were far away from my refuge near the falls. I could only guess that it may have been Watson and the search parties, it was odd that they didn't look closer to the falls. I stood there for a while and realized that they wouldn't due to the rushing water, they would choose to look downstream and wouldn't pay mind to any activity around here. If they even knew I was in this area they would have probably come looking for me to see if I had found anything.

I scoff at the answers I would give, I knew from my time that Holmes wouldn't wished to be found yet, he would rather wait until he was positive that Moriarty had in fact perished for his friends sake and wellbeing. Kicking the snow near the waters edge I scuffed up the retrieval area to be sure of that and continued on my way to the cave.

Walking inside I jerk to a halt seeing the initial area has been obviously moved about though it looked like there had been care to make it look undisturbed. I put a finger to the bridge of my nose already knowing the answer to the invasion. Clearly even lack of answer would cause Sherlock to do as good of an investigation as his body would allow. Shaking my head I walk into the cave and put the supplies against the far wall. Turning I look around the cave before seeing that Holmes is propped up against the wall and looking sulky at best.

I wonder if I should say anything and am stopped with the strangely irritable look aimed my direction. I wait for it but nothing comes, he is clearly going to give me the silent treatment-in all honesty I think I prefer that. I begin to unpack the supplies tucking them into their assorted placed before laying out the trousers, jacket and things I had gotten for the crabby looking detective.

"I'm sorry I was gone so long Sherlock, the whether created a few issues between here and the village." I see the irritable look fade from his features and raise a brow curious to why this is. "I have some things for you, it should help your ribs." I add sifting through the small bag I had on my shoulder and gathering the pain packets for the tea like I had been instructed. "Should be ready shortly." I add as an after thought.

**Sherlock's POV**

He had spent so much time looking for things to condemn her in some fashion that he had lost track of time. He had gotten sloppy by his standards but Isabella had not seemed to notice, which either meant she wasn't overly concerned with what he may find or he hadn't been looking hard enough. He had succeeded in finding only evidence that she had been in the area for at most two to three months. She had befriended someone from one of the smaller villages and had learned survival trades. He had to wonder though why she would have to learn the most simplistic of trades that women were known to have knowledge in.

He had found notes on how to sew, mend and even other oddities on how to trade and barter that seemed common knowledge to those in the area. He come to the conclusion that she wasn't from the area, she had no accent to define where she had come from and he was fairly certain that she could be from any part of the world. Though he was leaning more toward the america's, though even most of them had some hints of a different dialect than she had.

Isabella was a common name, nothing odd about that or her last name. In fact she seemed completely in place and yet she was more like a puzzle piece that had been forced in a space that it didn't fit. He had searched only part of the cave, his current injuries giving him very little leeway. He chose to watch her to try and find signs to lead him to more clues.

Standing she easily maneuver around the mess at her feet and handed him the presumably medicated tea. "Sherlock," she caught his eye, her blue gaze almost stormy despite the soft color. "I would appreciate it if you asked your questions instead of throwing the cave into disarray." She indicated the few things he had left out of place, he found himself taken back that she would notice them so easily.

**Original POV**

I see him stare at me clearly bemused and then note his dark eyes narrow before accepting the tea. "Every question I have asked to you Isabella has been a lead to only answers you particular wish to share. In fact no real answers have been given to any question I have asked you other then how I got here and who you are. I very much am curious to what you are hiding?"

She found her smile fade slightly knowing that he wouldn't like the answers. She didn't like the answers and didn't feel like convincing him that she wasn't insane. She chose to instead veer this confrontation another direction. She told him of the footprints and obvious searches for him that were further downstream. After revealing this saw that he was contemplative and went off into a stony silence clearly meaning he wasn't in a talkative mood anymore.

Understanding the silence better than I felt he did I began to sort out my sanctuary. Carefully seeking those telltale items I wasn't sure I wanted him to find. It wasn't the most idealistic of concepts to discuss, mostly I had no answers from this point on because as far as I knew 'A Game of Shadows' had been the last movie about this version of Sherlock Holmes. Upon folding blankets and other warm clothing to put in the corner where things were kept dry I paused-in the end of the move something happened-at least that is what my mind had convinced me of. I thought as I worked finally managing to regurgitate the information out of my own dilemmas that had haunted me for a while. At one point Holmes would reveal to John he survived, a package would arrive for him while he was typing of their last great adventure. I rubbed my temples picturing the end of the movie in my mind and sighed before continuing my routine pausing when I heard a muttered curse.

Turning I see Sherlock has managed to get to a crawling sort of position and is once again on the move. "You're only making your healing time take longer Sherlock and I don't believe you wish to be stuck in my small home for longer than you deem necessary." He paused holding his ribs before looing sideway seeing I was again doing tasks he found mundane.

"I need to go out there and investigate before the snow ruins evidence." I know what he means, he wants to make sure that he was the only one pulled from the river alive. "I don't have time to heal and listen to another nanny." I sneer at that reference before biting my tongue, he wasn't emotional but in fact was blunt to a point it would probably be easy to gather that was how he dealt with emotions of any kind.

Sometimes harsh and too bluntly to any point. I stand grabbing the heavy coat that I had traded for and my own before dropping it over his crawling form. I smile at the muffled curses before watching him manage to pull it around himself. I lean down offering him help, he clearly doesn't find it likable in any fashion but he has little choice if he wishes to solve his own internal battles.

"I don't think I much like you Sherlock," I feel him lean on my shoulder despite being uncomfortable with my presence and note that this may be a longer afternoon than I thought, especially with the failing light.

He said nothing resigned to ignore me. It suited me just fine, I found that he was remarkably unfeeling even though I knew it was his way of keeping distance among people. He had gotten close to Watson and it almost ended fatally, unfortunately I knew that it did end lethally for Irene Alder and wasn't a fool to think he would give up until he was sure Moriarty was dead.

Two hours of dragging him around countless drag marks and areas near the river I was far from pleasant. I personally am verging close to homicidal when I see him grip his ribs wincing. He's overdoing it but I doubt reason will convince him of anything else. He stops forcing me to do so and looks down where I had dragged him the previous night. He seems to muse over this particular area-I wonder if he remembers what happened- just as it seemed he may have he is again starting to move.

I want to say 'he's dead' but that would imply more than I wish to share with Sherlock. I let him lead the way-although at this time I feel oddly like a walking aid more than a person. To my relief he seems satisfied and then begins back the way we had come. I am grateful to see the cave opening in front of us before he uses the wall to aid his return to the floor, clearly he seems to think that I've become unable to continue to aid him.

I duck into the cave glancing behind me wondering if somehow Moriarty would have survived. I shake the idea from my mind before going inside finding that the fire being unattended would need some stirring before I cook anything. I let him be, he is clearly elsewhere most likely deep in thought, perhaps the misadventure of the past. I don't think on it as I do my own thing.

I find myself for the next few weeks sticking to this routine of caring for Sherlock's wounds, doing my usual trades and talking to Lilliana in town. The continued search for his former adversary has stopped much to my relief, he now though goes off on his own without ever telling me what he's doing and I find it only mildly worrying when I begin to piece together that soon he will be returning to Baker Street and hopefully letting Watson know he's survived.

I admittedly hadn't paid a hwole lot of attention to Sherlock since it seemed we only ended conversation with cynical retorts or unkind words. I admit I had gotten used to him being around which I knew wasn't wise. I was in this time long before meeting him and had no use to further my misery by putting up with him any longer than I had to. Today though smething was wrong, he had been completely silent the past three days and had said nothing at all except for the occasional pleasantries. Those had become increasingly annoying because it was easier to share insults.

Why did I get the feeling I was about to be ambushed? Hearing him enter the cave I saw that he was walking fine on his own now, however he still had some pain from his healing ribs and often took his time bending down and doing things too quickly.

I sip at the warm tea in my cup watching him retrieve some of his own. Those dark eyes are dark and appear to have endless knowledge-an unnerving trait that I found no longer fascinated me about Sherlock. I look to the fire tracing interesting shapes among the flames aware of his presence and the sensation of being watched, much too intently for my liking.

**Sherlock's POV**

The weeks had given him a lot of insight to Isabella, most of which did not fit the ideals of any female in his time or any other culture he had the knowledge of. They were perceived as frail, dressy figures for arms or most often as the ones to keep the household, raise children and make their husband happy. They didn't stand up to them, they didn't fight with them and most of all they didn't swear like a sailor. He had found many things unfitting to a lady in Isabella, it had vexed him for a while until he chose to search the cave on last time.

He had spent the past three days going over the information he had found. Reading the books in the tote and had concluded that she in fact didn't fit. She didn't even belong in this century. He had no idea how she got there, he was certain she didn't and he was now wondering just how much she may know about him. The books were intriguing for the most part, though a little odd for their time period and the publishing dates alone had him staring for the longest time in disbelief.

He had studied her art journals, examining her drawing tools and going through the many things she had found interesting to draw. One in particular caught his interest, a half finished one that had a tittle called 'game of shadows' printed across the top. It bore a remarkable likeness of himself and Watson but the details were not quite clear.

"A game of shadows?" Sherlock watched her reaction absorbed in how she took the question and smirked almost smugly.

**Original POV**

The staring at me was getting to me. I didn't know why but for some reason I had the impression that Sherlock Holmes wasn't going to make these past few weeks any less frustrating than he had already. He was evidently amused, clearly he had been absorbed in something for the past three days, so why did I feel like the next victim in a trap?

"A game of Shadows?"

I had coached myself to not react to any sort of future information he may find, too bad I didn't try harder. I stifled a startled sound before jerking when I successfully dropped my tea all over myself and quickly stood shaking the hot liquid off my clothes. I was so focused on myself I failed to see Sherlock stand slowly leaning against the cave a triumphant all knowing look present on his face.

Ignoring the fact that he's still staring at me I lift up my shirt tossing it aside before grabbing another and then wrapping a blanket around myself. Clearly he wasn't affected by my action which implied he had found those items I had tried in vain to keep from the famed detective. Sinking to the floor I tucked my knees under my chin refusing to say a word. Just because we had been stuck together for several weeks did not mean I wanted to just spill my guts to him. I didn't even much like him due to getting to know he was worse in person.

I heard him move around the cave and was aware of him slowly sitting beside me. I chose to keep my eyes transfixed on the fire and avoided his gaze. "I expected less of a reaction since you clearly know more about me than I would have gathered. Your books and drawings are intriguing enough though not as fascinating as that picture with that particular title." He clearly knew that I didn't belong here-why wasn't he freaking out?

"It in your case is useless to claim something without proof. I doubted that it would be enough." I lied wondering if I should have burned that stuff when I first arrived instead of vainly trying to maintain some sort of myself.

"There is plenty of proof there Isabella. How much do you know of why I ended up at the bottom of the falls?" She cringed trying to hide it and knew it didn't get past his keen senses.

"All of it."

"You knew who I was searching for?"

"Unfortunately, I also know that the search parties were most likely Watson's doing." He seemed to distract himself for a minute with that before again showing interest toward me.

"Is he dead?"

"I don't know, the story in my time revealed you were alive but the question of Moriarty wasn't answered." He mulled that over before seeming to convince himself that he was the victor despite what I said. "Are you going to let John know you're alive?"

"In good time." He looked into the fire while I chose to turn and study him, his jaw was clenched and he looked angry but seemed to hide it particularly well.

He was the meaning of stoic in every sense of the word. I placed my chin on my knees again looking into the flames. I didn't know how long the silence lasted before I was greeted with a package in front of my face and Sherlock standing holding my trade supplies for the town in his hand.

"What are you doing?"

"Delivering a package and I need you to lead the way." I look between him and a small familiar looking parcel guessing he was heading back to reveal to Watson he was alive.

I found it reassuring and upsetting. The reassuring part would be he would let his best friend know he survived and that he could go back to being the famed detective everyone sought out for the oddest of case. The sad part I had gotten used to him being around, I realized I would be living in the cave alone again and found myself wondering if Lilliana would mind a companion in the village.

I listened to him complain as we walked to the small village. He seemed more unpleasant than usual and much to my lack of patience there was a few times where I considered shoving him into a snow drift and leaving him. He may have healed but he still had some seinsitivety around his ribs and I would have the autadicty to feel guilty for hurting him again.

The sound of snow moving made me pause. I feel Sherlock collide into my back and curse before pushing him back watching huge chunks of snow flow on down the mountain before leaving a freshly powdered path before us. Small avalanches like this were common, I had learned ot navigate them after finding them less than easy to dig out of. It didn't help that my supposed genius companion wasn't observant when he was more interested in asking questions of what I knew instead of questions about future technological advances. Not what I expected when he found out that I wasn't form his time.

Though expectations were not always met-I was finding this out much more acutely than I would have perfered. I began to wonder how Watson could deal with him and his quirks, not to mention how mrs. Hudson had any patience what so ever for him. Sherlock as I come to observe was more needing of someone to keep him reigned in than any human I had met. I now had a full understanding of why he didn't want Watson to get married and leave him to himself-he was verging quite frankly on self destructive with the good doctor, without him he might succeed.

I began again now watching for the signs of more possible intruptions in the task of getting to the village for his sake. I also wondered exactly how saying goodbye to someone you learned to loathe would be hard. Ignoring the thoughts running freely in my mind, I continued my way to the village finally beginning to consider his complaints and questions background noise. Just before we got to the village I stop seeing other hikers passing by and ignore the curious looks from those that thought me a recluse-rather some weird batty lady that hid in the hills with no inclination of how to meet a man let alone be walking with one.

"You're not popular are you?" I hear him but choose to avoid an answer.

Instead I stop short of the steep incline that would lead to the village paths and looked around below. The usual trade route was occupied with plenty of activity and sleighs, mostly I could see little sign of familiar faces. The lack of Lillian's trade stand worried me. Lilliana had been the first person I saw when I managed to get some sense of what I had to do. I wasn't helpless because of the time I had come from, but I had to do things to keep surviving and she had been the rock to anchor me. Scanning the traders and faces below I chew my lip wondering-where in the hell is she? It isn't like her to miss the big trade day. I am aware of movement beside me before the complaining of Sherlock ceases and he looks around taking in the images below.

"Is there a postal service?" he inquired completely oblivious to my anxiety and unease.

Looking sideways seeing him standing there I am remind of one of the reason I don't much like him and then the reasons where I had grown to depend on his company. Shaking my head ignoring his question I start down the steep slope heading for Lilliana's home. I pass by traders stands, faces that recognize me from making trades and am aware of Sherlock coming up fast calling out for me to stop. I continue on my way, it isn't like he can't ask for the postal service from someone else, right now I'm worried about Lilliana.

I come up short feeling Sherlock smack into me when I see the local doctor outside Lilliana's old rundown shack. I had learned much inside those rough looking wooden walls and had helped her repair the spots in the roof and porch that had grown weak over time. She never asked how I knew the trade and had been very glad to help me learn a few survival tips for the time period I had been dumped into. There is no reason or rhym to my thoughts other then why is the doctor at her house and looking so grim?

I stop short when Lilliana's great niece exits the house and meets my gaze. Much like her warm aunt she had become a friend; her dark eyes that were always full of laughter seemed to be drained of joy now. Her dark hair stuck to her face as she tried to recover and focus on my confusion. Slowly she thanked the doctor for his help and asked him to contact the individuals she would need to see to Lilliana.

My heart sank like a stone dropped into a river, I knew the behavior and realized much to my sadness that Lilliana was no longer part of us. She had moved on to what she deemed the heaveny paradise. Her niece Dahlia stepped away from the small grouping of men around her and came over to me. She much like her aunt had no need for space and hugged me tightly. Relfexively I put a hand around her feeling her sobbing and could feel warmth sliding down my own face.

"Izzie," she rasped softly seeking comfort-a thing hard for me to give due to the lack of feeling I seemed to develop when someone passed away. I felt utterly miserable and could feel nothing but sorrow and a sense of fear.

Clearly Dahlia is seeking the comfort that I'm not sure I'm capable of. I liked Lillianna and had a soft spot for her. I wasn't good with people passing away and had managed to find myself totally and utterly lost.

"I'm sorry Day." A nickname I had used often getting to know the girl during my task of survival learning. "Dahlia…are you alright?" she sniffled a bit before smiling warmly, she obviously wasn't a fool to think I was comfortable despite her grief.

"Yes, she is better now. She as you know has been ill." I didn't know and stood there shocked, Lillianna had never told me. "You did not know?"

"She didn't tell me."

"Can someone please direct me to a postal service operator of some kind?" I had almost forgotten about Sherlock, I turn pointedly glaring at him and smack his arm despite his lack of tact I expected nothing less.

"Excuse him." I ignore him and purposefully give him an icy warning glare before directing Dahlia into the hut where I see Lillianna is covered and peacefully awaiting her final rest. "I will miss her a lot Dahlia, she was the best friend I could have hoped for when things seemed bleak." I see Sherlock looking around the room, his eyes moving in a familiar fashion of taking in every detail including ones that were overlooked.

I didn't need to be a genius to understand his insane methods. Dahlia talked with me for a little bit giving me some odds and ends that Lillianna had made for me and some small letters she had been keeping aside for me in case she didn't get to share all she wished to. The more Dahlia spoke with me I began to realize this was all too neatly put together for someone that was ill and still had a lot of fight left. I met dark eyes that seemed to calculate my reactions before he lowered his dark gaze away from mine and seemed more interested in his own thoughts. I again find arms surrounding me and this time attempt to show some emotion. I still find this awkward but then again I had come to learn the family had a need to hold each other-I wondered if it was because of the cold?

I agreed to stay for a short time and informed Sherlock not so politely that I would take him to the postal service after I aided the only friend I had managed since my arrival. It would seem he got the subtle hint to remain quiet and that I would easily show my less than kind side regardless of how well he had healed. To my disbelief he seemed content not to argue and observed as Dahlia prepared things to be taken with her aunt. I watched the service people come and go but for some reason my eyes kept straying to Sherlock Holmes. My own future plans put on hold because now I had lost a link and good friend, I began to focus on my unfortunately lonely little cave and how at best I could settle back into a routine without Sherlock around to carry on at all hours and anytime of the night he chose.

"She laced her tea with a creative herbal poison. Strong botanicals are crushed in the bowl near where she prepared her medical tea." He said after Lillianna had been taken from the shack and Dahlia continued to make arrangments for her now late aunt. "You gather that before I could say anything." I nod though I find his presence more frustrating than helpful at the moment. "She hid it well?"

"Yes she did. Would you kindly mind your own business Holmes?" I snap distressed with the sudden alarming amount of change surrounding me.

I didn't take well to quick changes or sudden upsets in my routine. It made me nervous, unsettled and easily restless for the most part. His obsessed nature and natural hang-ups not really shocking to me, now though in person I find him more unsettling and have come to wonder why I even went to help him. Yes I have a conscience but it didn't mean I had to go out of my way to help him anymore, in fact I chose that moment to stand up and give him directions to his precious post office.

He met my gaze standing at the doorway for the longest time before ducking out of the shack. I felt nothing as he left except for maybe a little troubled. I am lost in a time I don't know well and he was lost in his own sense dealing with a possibility that his nemesis was dead but no certainty. His most important contacts in the world thought he had perished over that balcony-though I had my suspicions that Sherlock's brother Mycroft believed that less than likely. I didn't want to be involved in that world, at this point I chose to remain distressed with everything else and the fact that Dahlia had begun to collect her aunts htings.

Lillianna's trade and home would be put up for sale. Dahlia had her own home and traders shack which meant that her family could use the money from the shack to make theirs business far better. Her aunt had thought of everyone and everything. She had even thought of me though I felt no need to upset myself more by reading the oddly large pile of letters that had been given to me. I folded up the items that Dahlia had given me and tucked them away in a pack that Lillianna had made for me, I just wished she had at least given me some kind of warning about her ideas.

A couple of hours had passed before I realize that lingering would do me little good. I instead chose to make my way back outside. A blizzard had begun and with it I knew that I would have to move quickly to get back to the falls. For some bizarre reason I avoided the postal traders post, I felt little need to say any sort of farewell to Sherlock Holmes and had much to my still tense body found it easy to pretend that none of the time around him had actually happened.

I think I emotionally shut down that morning and had yet to process all the disturbing events of that afternoon. The least of which being that my only link to this time was gone and the other link was a compulsive, over-obsessed detective with a listing miles long why I should avoid him. The snow had grown worse by the time I made it to the cave, in fact I had to shake off my things several times before going inside. What startled me was the fire was going full and strong, usually by the amount of time I had spent away I would come back home to red embers and have to get it going again.

Arching a brow I reach inside the cave for the thick wood branch I used to keep open the door when the weather was warmer and held it comfortingly in my hands. Setting my things aside I slow my pace to be as silent as possible and exit with the stick raised stopping when I see Sherlock with his nose buried in one of the novels from my time, he appeared to have gone through the cave more thoroughly this time and found other things I had tried to keep private. Including a journal on my thoughts and my own adventures when I met Lillianna, sighing I lower the branch crossing my arms and glare at him.

"I assumed you would have gotten here before the storm. If I had known I would have waited in the village." If I could have done so without hurting him I might have knocked the smug tone right out of him.

"I expected you to stay there and find a way home." I said lifting my fingers in emphasis which I knew is most likely lost on the detective. "I was going to knock your head of, luckily I looked before I swung." I made my way into the cave dropping my gear and gently tucked the letters in the bag I carried with me at all times.

"Were you close to her?" I find my eyes drifting to the normally passive Sherlock known best for ignoring emotions in most cases, although I did have my ideas he wasn't as numb as he would like to pretend.

I wondered why I would chose to tell him anything, he was fishing and I knew that-why did he even come back? "She was my guide when I realized that I was put in another time period. She helped me learn some trades that in my time weren't a necessity. I don't know if I was close or not." I said realizing that being friends with someone had proven to be complicated.

I wasn't really a people person even in my own time, I think the only reason I had let myself befriend Lillianna and Dahlia was the necessity of needing to learn a surviving trade. I didn't belong in the 1800's, yet here I am and still dealing with the ever over curious Sherlock Holmes that has a tendency to over obsess. I sat there poking at the fire lost in memories both past and present before blinking realizing he had again been speaking. I totally missed the conversation lost in my own thoughts.

Tilting my head I look up seeing evidence of displeasure reflected in his face and sigh. I hadn't meant to ignore him, clearly he wasn't used to not being the center of attention. Sitting there I realize he had my undivided attention for the past few weeks and now I had bluntly shut him out of my thoughts. I know my face is hot but choose to pretend that I wasn't at all embarrassed by my lack of attention. He had his life to go back to and I had to try and sort my own.

Sherlock gathering he had my attention now tried again. "Would you consider making a delivery for me?" My brow furrows in confusion-I thought he had gone to the postal service.

"Do I look like a mail person?" I feel cranky and out of place at the moment, so naturally I lash out at stupid questions.

I watch his fingers go to the bridge of his nose clearly not liking my answer. "I am finding myself worried about female kind if they all act like you do." I don't know whether to be offended or amused that I had agitated the easily passive man. "I made arrangements to return to London. I need someone that can understand my methods and help me get my information to Watson. I don't know if he's truly dead and don't wish to endanger him or his wife." I sit there watching him, he looks tired despite the obvious things that had happened.

In the movies I hadn't remembered seeing him so drawn, it was startling that he groomed much at all being trapped out here with me in the middle of nowhere. He didn't look much different from when I first helped him out of the water. Now though he wore his former attire from that night, with some liberties on the formalities of the outfit. He left out the tie and jacket in favor of being more comfortable. His hair had gotten a bit longer, but was still a wild tangle of dark locks that had grown to have a mind of their own.

"Why would I throw myself into the chaos of your world Sherlock? I know how dangerous it is." I stare down at the flames trying to pretend that I have no interest in leaving my hole in the wall near the falls, in reality I have no idea what I want anymore.

This is where he got my attention by looking directly at me and letting out a deep breath. "Perhaps I can find out how you came here and get you home." I look up staring hard at him, his face isn't unreadable though he seems conflicted on his tactics.

I wonder if manipulation is wearing his patience thin or if I somehow managed to just irritate him enough the emotions he pretends don't exist are trying to show through. He sits there silently, his fingers fumble about looking for something and I guess what it is. Since he's been in my sanctuary he has not had his pipe, his source to help his thought process has been denied and I can guess that it may be wearing on what little nerves he has that aren't raw.

"Why should I believe you?"

"I've gone through the assortment of things from your world that you have. The evidence states contrary to your dislike of me, that you are not stupid and know what I am capable of."

"That is exactly what worries me." I find myself once again drawn to look at him and see he isn't going to give up-perhaps his determination is also part of his compulsion? "If I help you get your best friend back…you plan to find out how I got in the 18th century?" he was obviously amused, the smirk told me volumes.

"Precisely, its quite elementary when I have my good friend aiding me like all the good times before that." His smug smile makes me think over the events that I do remember for the movie and I smile myself.

"How do you propose to apologize for throwing his wife off the train?" His smile fades dark eyes pointedly glaring me down. "You may have timed it just right but I don't think he agreed with your method." He placed some more wood into the fire ignoring my comment.


	3. Asleep and Running

**_Don't own anything except original characters. All material (c) to respective owners. I write these for fun and make no profit. They're just random plot bunnies that live within my strange mind_**

A/N: New chapters up, more coming. Thanks for reading I appreciate it. :)_  
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**Chapter 3: Asleep and Running  
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I sit there silently watching him, he's hunched over the fire lost in thought and lacking the method most famous to him. I also have to wonder if he is dealing well with being sober, as far as my knowledge spans he hasn't tried to ingest anything that would quite possibly be unhealthy for him. Though I didn't watch him every minute and found it not warranting my attention. Sherlock Holmes could deal with his own bad habits, I had to decide whether to aid him or wisely stay in my hole.

The prospect of going home, knowing the truth of his brilliance did the last thing I wanted it to-convinced me to recklessly go into the world that often lead to danger. I had made the decision to help Sherlock hoping that by some miracle he would be able to get me home. I for the time being let myself think over the consequences of my decision. I would wait to see what happened, for all I knew he would be gone by morning.

**Sherlock's POV**

What was appealing about an emotional wreck? He determined nothing, except for the idea she was from another time. She knew about that night on the balcony, she knew their history and he wanted to know what else she knew. He felt it would aid in knowing if Moriarty was indeed out of their lives or if this was just the beginning of an even more devious plot.

She wasn't sleeping well, even he could see that watching her fitfully toss and turn before he considered the small bag where she had placed the pile of letters. He had no boundaries when learning about people, however there were certain lines that he wisely chose for the time being not to cross. She may have withdrawn to avoid the direct actions of losing her friend, he wasn't emotional by any standards but an idiot he wasn't. Isabella hid behind walls, he found it infuriating and at the same time more like a enigma that wished to remain unexplained.

All she was to him was a case, one with bewildering circumstances and few answers. He dozed wondering if he had influenced her to join his race to protect his friends? He wasn't sure but could see that her need to go back home could sway her to work with him. He depended on Watson and had shut him off to protect him, this girl had no ties with the time and could easily help him. Possibly give him knowledge of Moriarty without even knowing it.

When he first saw her he had been convinced that she was the enemy. He knew nothing really about her, what little he had learned and gathered from observation still left holes in her story. She was tall, not petite but still strong enough to obviously live out in these hills for a while. Long hair that fell in various ringlets down her shoulders, often she would shove it out of her way making no effort to put it up, she found ways to persist where women he knew would back down. Exceptions to the rule few and far between, little of them gaining any sort of respect from him.

**Original POV**

I sit up startled awake by dreams I can't remember, staring around in the gloom I see the fire has died to embers and toss on some more wood. Sherlock is leaning against the pile of blankets he had spent a good deal of time at during his recovery, it looked like he had been sitting up thinking quite a bit and I wonder why on earth I want to go anywhere near him. He is capable of bringing trouble out of nwhere on his closest friends, how is throwing myself in the middle of the worst danger possible going to help?

I just wanted someplace to fit in. I guess aiding an eccentric, neurotic detective in the past that in my time was fictional may have been better than rotting in a cave. I shrug curling back into my assortment of blankets before finding my attention on the stack of letters almost taunting me from my bag. Am I ready to face the aspect of my friend chosing to lessen her own pain and leave me notes? No, I pointedly push my bag back and roll away, I would deal with things when I was good and ready.-This wasn't it.

"How long would you say I've been dead?" I open my eyes blearly glaring at the man now to close to my personal space. "Six weeks? Less? More?" there he goes firing his questions again, I wonder if Sherlock will ever guess that I'm not the best morning person?

"Go away." I lift my blanket over my head pretending to go back to sleep.

"The train will leave in two hours, it will take that long to get to the station." I snort in answer quite content with pretending I didn't care. "The carriage is waiting in the village, we should go now to make it in time. Unless you favor an earlier train tomorrow." There was the smallest hint of a threat, it meant he wasn't asking me anymore and had made the decision for me.

"Did I say I was going?" I ask startled when I glance around seeing my cavern home has been packed into a few bags. "What did you do!" I aske bewildered and slowly looking around at my oddly empty sanctuary, I find his amused look less than charming now that I see he has turned my world upside down.

"Your friend Dahlia was happy to help get your things to town for us." I look around sitting up finding he at the least left my personal bag. "You can gather what you want, clothing and such. You won't need all the blankets and thigns you used to survive here."

"What makes you think I will be at all fascinated in helping you. You have nerve and for someone that's so smart, this was incredibly stupid." I stand finding the blanket wrapped around my shoulders before he's gently shoving me to the exit. "I hope the carriage can't come and we have to ride horses." I growl snippily before being greeted with a crushing hug and seeing Dahlia standing there, evidence of others already gone with my things in tow. "I loathe you Mr. Holmes."

"Likewise Ms. Gracen." He returns his eyes lowered with lack of humor. "Lead the way." He easily took to the head of the pack leaving me to hang back with Dahlia talking excitedly about him and my leaving for London.

I was not thrilled in the least. I was seeing red and had an urge to throw a certain detective over the falls myself. Whoever deduced that he was magnetic and captivating when solving a case forgot that he was also, conceited, narcissistic, smug and knew it. It clearly didn't bother him, I found him now rude and obnoxious. He was definitely fanatical and so involved in what he wished to be done he forgot he was dragging me along for the ride. I found myself finally feeling sorry for Watson, how he even managed to deal with this intense single-minded man was beyond me. I had an urge to smother Dahlia by the time the halfway point came about. Sherlock didn't' complain much this time around, I wondered how he managed when he went back to the cave to _run_ my life for me? I wince at the gunshot fired ahead seeing Dahlia look fearfully around before becoming aware of one of the hunters seeking out his next trade offer. No one said that everyone had civility. I smirk at the unpleasant look Sherlock offers the ones aiding his brilliant notion of dragging me along.

"You like him?"

I rest uneasily against a less than stable tree watching Sherlock begin to lecture the survival of his men clearly not condoning the ideals of hunting when he was in a hurry. Dahlia's question makes me look at her-I detest him-it is easy to gather she doesn't get it. I wonder what exactly he used to convince her to help him, he isn't at all significant enough to have my last remaining friend drag me around on a chase I would rather be absent from. The idea that she would stoop so low as to think I had any romantic ties at all with him were laughable.

"Not a bit." I start to follow the others down the familiar path stifling amusement when Sherlock forgets just how tricky navigating the snowy area is and wears some heavy drifts himself. "He thinks I can help him…I however feel less about that approach. He's dangerous to be around." I am not sure even I believe that anymore, though he seems quite determined to keep everyone on his schedule.

She laughed softly putting her arm with mine like a sister would. "He's got a good heart, though I do agree with you on the belief he's dangerous. He's…peculiar. I think you will be fine with him." If she only knew half of what I did, she wouldn't be as convinced as she sounded.

The town is getting closer I can see crowds of people below in the village and stare down at a coach centered almost mockingly in the middle of it all. Staring down I can't help but look to the left where I had always seen Lillianna waiting happily for my visits, maybe she would have been easier to convince that Sherlock Holmes was a menace? Dahlia questions me about my things, when it comes down to it I narrow it down to two bags. My clothing, the things I came to this world with and the occasional thing I had picked up from my time hiding in my cave. I made it as simplistic as possible-amused when Sherlock eyed my little collection clearly believing like all men-women carried a ton of crap.

I slip into the dark carriage saying goodbye to Dahlia. I had hoped to seem a little more emotionally convincing that I would miss her and my cave life. Truthfully I liked her but would miss Lillianna more due to more time spent with her. I'm sitting there surrounded by black with a sharp contrast of early morning hues of soft pinks ranging up to brilliant blue. I wonder how long of a ride this would be, how uncomfortable it would be and why he insisted on dragging me along for the ride.

The ride felt like hours, for the longest time we rode in silence. It didn't take long for him to start grilling me on how much of his story I knew. He wanted specifics and all I had wished for is some actual sleep. I could sleep anywhere if given enough reason to attempt, finally fed up with his never ending questions I answer him in one answer. I knew the majority of the story, how Moriarty had hurt and used his friends. I answered the never ending details and aspects from his case with Blackwood all the way to the ball where he had thrown himself to his death. A simple recap for the most part, some lines blurred along the way but I didn't leave him hanging.

When he brought up the fool incident that started his whole meeting with Moriarty I said little. I didn't wish to drag Irene into the topic. She had been crazy to thinks he was safe, Sherlock had been blaming himself which I knew from watching his recovery period. All together this topic in my opinion needed to be dropped. I wisely turned away facing out the carriage window seeing hints of large cities and finally getting a good look of less snow and more populated areas.

"I sent a telegram to Mycroft. The necessities of papers and such should be easy enough for him to provide you an identity." I snap to attention finally daring to look over at him for the first time in a while.

He has his fingers steepled against his mouth watching me for reactions. I stare into those dark eyes before a stream of curses leave my mouth. He had this planned all along and like an idiot I walked right on into it. I hated to be influenced in any of my choices, I hated to be maneuvered like some chess piece and made it clear that I wasn't hapy with how he had handled this whole situation.

"I am beginning to greatly despise you Sherlock." I smack the roof of the carriage before easily slipping out and starting down the street.

In the middle of nowhere with a several mile walk back to where I think I lost my sanity. Despite that I still begin to walk back, I have my knapsack over my shoulder and the rest of my stuff can stay, I have little use for anything that man has to offer at this time. Walking I hear the driver call out before stopping in my tracks. If he's following me and leaving the driver to wait on us I am going to hurt him, turning I see that Sherlock isn't following me instead he has the driver doing the legwork for him.

Groaning I see the driver come up short of knocking into me and meet worried green eyes before a thin man in his later years rubs at his scruffy face everything bundled from view but those eyes. He talks slowly pleading with me to go back to the carriage, he explains that the gentleman-which I could argue on that-has given him a good some of money and it will be useful for his family. I glare over his shoulder-it is worse than blackmail, Sherlock is playing on my conscience. Slowly I nod before unenthusiastically following the driver back, I look up watching him make his way back to the drivers seat of the carriage before I deliberately walk to the carriage entrance and ignore him climbing inside.

"Welcome back Isabella." If only he wasn't as smart as he was, his smarts though lacked tact and eventually he would be completely healed giving me ample reason to show him my less than kind side.

"You wouldn't say that if you were healthy." He leans back in the seat across from me tapping the roof and we're on our way again.

Smirking smugly he crosses his arms carelessly implying he has nothing to worry about. "Why is that? You've done nothing short of keeping me alive?"

"I would hit you so hard you would know the meaning of modern women in my time." I grit my teeth trying to remember that this was the brilliant detective I had used to admire.

**Sherlock's POV**

Staring at her he waits seeing her head bob before looking out the scenery going from open countryside to larger villages. They weren't far from the town where the train would await them and then? He would have a lot of explaining to do and now knew that it had been two months since his disappearance, rather assumed demise. Watson would be furious when he returned out of the blue, he also wasn't sure how life had been for the newly married couple. Mycroft had little information although his suspicions of his brother being alive had eased the explanation for him. It was good to have similar quirks, though professions were totally different.

He began to ponder his method of announcing his survival to his friend, how Isabella would play a part and then he wondered how he could keep his word. He the genius he was didn't know of any methods of time travel. He knew of scientists and theorists that worked in that area, but nothing had come of it. Though someone had found out a way to get her hear, either that or it had happened in her own time and there wasn't a way for her to go back. Sitting there that made the most accurate picture for him.

"So if she came here by means of her own time…there wouldn't be a solution for her to get back." He said aloud his dark eyes focused on her just to be sure she didn't hear him.

She had managed to wriggle her way in a curled up position on the seat. Her tall frame seemingly incredibly small when she successfully found her comfort level, she wore a heavy jacket over a dress given to her by Dahlia, a deep tan in color and it blended with the brown jacket almost making her look like a carpet being situated to be cleaned. Remarkably her wild waves had begun to slip out of the updo style Dahlia had accomplished and began to cover her face.

He looked down at his formal wear from his unfavorable ending the night he hopefully ended his enemy. Frayed and ripped in some areas it was still usable, though he found it an uncomfortable reminder of the choices he had made. He had decided that one way or the other he would save his friends, the other proved to be painful and he had been lucky she was lurking in that cave.

**Original POV**

Hearing the sound of a train whistle I snap awake darting my eyes around the carriage before seeing Sherlock sit up rubbing his face. He looks out the window finding the driver carefully unloading our things on a cart. Exiting the carriage I stick my head out curiously and freeze eyes widening in alarm.

Firstly we are in a city, the name not important when I see how vast it is and the activity abound in it. The train station alone is swarming with people coming and going, I find myself instantly self-concious and aware I have no clue how to act in this time period. The small village had suited me, now I was at the mercy of the world and the truth of the matter was-I couldn't deal with this. Reluctantly I put my hand on the doorway seeing children running past and hearing so many different voices it worries me. I should have stayed in my cave. I began to doubt even coming here despite it being Sherlock's methodical planning while I blindly let him lead the way.

"Are you coming dear?" I look sideways seeing Sherlock standing off to the side after waving off the tendant with the luggage.

Dear? Who is he kidding-I realize that something is amiss before slowly stepping out of the coach. I hear the stones crackle under my feet before darting my eyes around taking in the chaos of the station and swallowing hard. I find this defying my need to be a calm collected person. Sherlock wraps his arm with mine before I can say anything and is leading the way to the lines of people going in and out of the station. I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing and much to my dislike I find myself having to depend on him to make sure I don't do something stupid.

I look skyward seeing a clear gray sky, no sign of anything but a few birds fly overhead and wonder what I did to deserve all this? A large building made of heavy wood and doors, I lightly tap my foot on the floorboards pausing on the platform to the train before feeling myself pulled along and stare at a long sleek black train with several people going back and forth. An array of color and noise that has me at least interested, though I can't shake the feeling that this many people could be a bad thing. After all if Moriarty had somehow survived wouldn't they be looking specifically for Sherlock?

"Stop preening, lead the way just a bit faster." I see his dark eyes darting around the trainstation and platform before looking down at me curiously.

I realize then he's taller, not that I shouldn't have noticed this before but as of late I had been to annoyed to care. "You seem less pleasant than usual." He pauses outside an opening leading into the train giving the ticketmaster two tickets before leading me ahead of him and onto the train. "Just follow my lead, I don't think there will be too much to worry about." I'm not convinced, his eyes moving around and tense nature has me wondering what he saw that I overlooked.

In my defense I wasn't as skilled as he was, I wasn't a genius either. I did know some things because of lacking a major back in college but that didn't do me much good here. The 18th century was very different. I wondered again what his great scheme was and why he had to take me along. What is so special about me other than I didn't come from this time?

He led me along the passenger cars before opening a door to my right, I slipped in oblivious to how the train looked or the layout. I had been to worried by the people giving us the occasional curious stares. Inside though I did take in the view, elegant carved frame work with heavy black cushions and storage places above us, Sherlock seemed content and did a quick check of the door that led outside the train. I briefly wondered if he planned throwing me from the train, though I serious doubted that. I hearing last calls and look out seeing forests and hills, I wonder how long of a ride before we got to Baker Street in London-I had a feeling John Watson wouldn't take kindly to Sherlock just showing up.

"You obviously think we're being watched."

He looks back from the outside door which he presently was sliding shut. "You assume we are." He pointed out-I can't deny the accusation either, after all look who I am currently traveling with. "I didn't see any indications that someone specifically was seeking us out."

"You out." I correct still resentful for being easily led into this mess by him.

Sherlock now less than amused sat down across from me, his arms slowly crossing before he leaned back. His dark eyes narrowed as if he was about to say something that I wouldn't like. He sat there in a resigned sort of way before it looks as if the wrath he seemed to have disappeared. Instead he looked out the window, looking like he was in deep thought I said no more. I did want to say more but something about the sudden silence made me bite back my temper.

The jerking motion of the train made me look up sharply before I realized we were moving. I hadn't been on a train since I was little and had long since forgotten their bumpy starts. I chose to stare up at the ceiling for a while before realizing I had nothing relative to do. Feeling bored and knowing that my current companion wouldn't be a source of entertainment, I hesitantly pulled over my knapsack reaching inside it. Feeling them I slowly pulled out the small bundle of letters eyeing them with unease. They were tied together with blue ribbon, Lilianna knowing well that it was my favorite color. Each one was addressed to me in a very tight barely legible scrawl but I had read worse handwriting in my time. The question on my mind is-did I really wish to open these in front of the obsessive detective inside the car with me and possible give away things I didn't want to.

Drawn by a compulsion I untie the ribbon and open the first of the letters. I look at the date and realize it had been the day she met me, two days before I finally had the nerve to go into town and look for help.

_Journal The Beginning of the Strange Girl_

_She is an odd one, arrived into town seeking something and obviously have no idea what exactly. I find her quite odd, she's tried to find ways of bartering with some of the others but none of them seem interested in what she has to offer. She came to my stand and tried to explain she had nothing to trade with, she needed help but what kind of help? I found her none threatening and could see she was lost. This girl, Isabella Gracen, I like her. She has kind eyes. Jade in color and has a strong spirit like Dahlia. I feel we can be friends._

_Talking to her she sees that my shack needs some repair work. I tell her that no man in the village has time to help an old widow out, she says she can do it. I stare at this strange woman, she says not to worry that she does know what she is doing. I have no faith that a woman knows carpentry skills. We know mending and caring, among other necessities. We fish, cook and hunt small game. Shop in the larger towns and do our best to keep a household. A woman with the abilities she has would be frowned upon. _

_I offer her a trade, I will teach her what she needs to know and she can fix what she can. When she asks me to teach her how to sew, mend and knit I am staring in disbelief. She says nothing more and is off to do what she claimed she can._

I smile despite myself, I must have completely thrown Lillianna's belief system into disarray. If I could have told her the truth I might have caused her to end up thinking me insane. I gently fold the journal page and move onto the next one.

_Journal,_

_Isabella proved true to her word. She has done quite a bit of repair to the shack in just a few weeks. She's stayed with me as she worked, she explains that she lives in a cave someplace out in the mountains. I ask little on this, instead I offer her some things in trade for her service despite the lessons I am giving her. The poor girl has stabbed her fingers countless times in a vain attempt at mending. She's fair at sewing, though nothing lines up quite right when she's done. I can tell she's frustrated, however she doesn't need lessons in cooking. She's very good at that, I find I like her preparing the meals much better than my own._

_Her first encounter hunting though she appeared quite uncomfortable, I can tell she has never harmed a living thing in her life. I see her distaste at the idea of taking a life, despite needing food I can see that she would be best to trade for her meat instead of getting her own source. I instead try to teach her knitting, she manages at most to tangle herself up before we get started._

_A sweet girl, some temper issues and a mouth that would shame any man. I find her unusual but she stays true to her word, she's honest and works hard._

Lillianna didn't mind me being different, I like that and rub my eyes. I hate crying, unfortunately her memories are making me relive times that I realize I treasured. She wasn't just a friend, she was a person there when I had no one to go to. She ignored my worst traits just to make sure I could survive.

_Journal,_

_It has been a month since meeting Issie for the first time. She has finally accomplished what she set out to learn, she can sew and mend. She's also is good at drying food for the colder months and has become an avid trader herself. She's managed to get furs and other items on her travels and become friends with some of the traders that come far and wide to this area. She knows how to use her pretty looks to get what she needs. Today however upon going to fetch her from the local tavern I came upon a man being rude to her. _

_His intentions were foul, I wanted to go to her aid but before I got there that girl let out the most strong language you ever heard out of a woman's mouth. She belted that boy a good one, think she nearly broke his nose. He went down holding onto his manly assets as Issie spotted me and came a running._

_We talked about what she had done that afternoon for a while. She said that no man was going to force anything from her and if they tried she could do far worse than break a nose or two._

_I believe her. I learned that I am ill but wish to not burden her with such sorrows as an old woman's life. She's so young and has such a fire in her spirit. I would rather her be herself than worry over me._

From there on the letters describe more of how she sees me as a dear friend. It implies in some of them that she had come to see me as an admirable adopted daughter, but mostly it goes into her illness and later on comes the plans which I had been witness to that day I came looking at the shack.

Sherlock had been right-even if he was smug-he had pointed out her method clearly and I found that it did nothing to ease my anger. I was mad at her for not telling me how sick she was. Staring at those letters I wonder if I would belong anywhere in this miserable time. The only link I really had to consider a friend would have been her. Dahlia I loved to pieces, it just wasn't the same.

_Journal, the revelation_

_I have thought over Issie for many days, being the dear friend she is I have nothing to hide from her and yet I feel she is hiding from me. I journeyed to her home this morning. She wasn't there, I guessed she might be trading in town or perhaps out fishing. The girl is strong and independent to a fault, she doesn't need a man but one day I hope she finds one that may need her. She's quite the catch, even if she would scare most gentlemen off._

I laugh at that, if only Lianna knew how many men were intimidated by a strong women. Even in my own time they found it hard to deal with.

_I would have left but instead I went inside hoping to get an idea if she needed anything. She is a hard one to get to answer you when she needs things, it's like taking a hide off a large animal, difficult. I stumbled over her knapsack, I never seen that girl without it so it astonished me. Knocking the things out of it I go to put them back, before doing so I find the books themselves out of the ordinary, mostly they feel different than any I am used to. I dare to page through one and my questions are answered. I'm too old to believe that things out there in the universe don't happen out of our power, perhaps I would seem a fool but its enough for this old gal to know the truth._

_I understand Issie then, especially her doubts and lack of knowing the basics. I have a future girl for a friend, I would ask her so many questions but it is not my place. I will cherish the time I have left with my friend, my dear sister from another time._

I stop stunned at this last of the letters. Lillianna had known for almost a month and never let on. Staring at the last of those scribbled letters I feel strangely adrift. My world yet again turned upside down, it was so warped now that I didn't know whether I was coming or going.

"I would guess that your friend knew more of you than you expected." The silence broken by Sherlock's voice has me looking up seeing his eyes are closed and he is laying casually down on the floor.

I hadn't realized it but I had tucked my legs under me and hadn't moved from my Indian styled position since I began to read. "When did you get down there?" I asked ignoring his observation.

"How long did your friend know you weren't what you seem?"

"Are you going to answer everything with a question?"

I look down ignoring my hair as it tumbles down my shoulder. I had long since let it fall down when we got on the train and found it more comfortable that way. He remained there though he opened his eyes looking up at me and smirked giving me my answer.

"Alright, what do you want to ask me?" I surrender for the moment, it isn't like his questions aren't easy to answer when they deal with the movies that I knew of his life.

Sherlock interested now that he got her attention asked something she didn't expect. "What was your profession in your time?"

I am prepared to answer another movie question when out of the blue he ask something I didn't expect. I don't feel the need to answer him either, but knowing him he won't quit and will find a method to get the information one way or another.

"How is that useful?"

"Should I analyze you instead Isabella? Describe exactly what went through your mind as you read-"

"Do shut up." I glare down seeing him raise a brow uninterested in my show of temper. "It isn't any of your business. I don't have to tell you anything nor do I want to. So mind your own business." I begin to return the ribbon around the letters to tuck them away for safe keeping, however I am interrupted once again by the man currently on the floor.

"You drive to keep everyone out failed when you met Lillianna." I uncross my legs and lean across the seat before coming near eye level with Sherlock.

I no longer care if he's hurt or not, there is only so much I can take before I just give into my more primal urges. I ball up my fist and punch him in the nose, the easiest of the targets presented to me.

**Sherlock's POV**

He seen her intention though a little late. He caught his nose surprised at the force such a girl could produce glancing up eyes wide. He was hurt, he had expected that to play in his favor since she had sympathy she kept hidden. He miscalculated how much she could handle before finally letting his personality trigger her less than appealing side.

"I may have made an error."

She narrows her gaze leaning down glaring into his eyes. "You think so?" she asks her tone considerably cold and full of nothing short of fury. "Do you ever take time to consider how pushing people to their limits might be the reason you always find trouble?"

Looking on whatever spite she has falters seeing him slowly sit up pinching his nose. She watches as he turns brushing strands of hair out of his eyes and slowly gets back to his seat. She had given him a warning, he had neglected to take her word and was given a very disagreeable answer for his trouble. She felt bad, she had hit him despite his soreness left from injuries after the fall. He sat there for a few minutes as if reflecting on his actions, she knew though he was trying to find a strategy that wouldn't add injury to her already obviously strained temper.

"Are you bleeding?" she asked seeing him close his eyes before he met hers.

"Not yet," She smiled in spite of herself, clearly he felt she had the force in the punch to make him do so. "Your…friend seemed to know more of you than you thought. Did you know as much of her?"

"No," She didn't want to talk about Lillianna that was pretty clear. "Sherlock wisely step away from the topic that got you a bruised ego."

"Nose." He corrected.

**Original POV**

I roll my eyes leaning back in the seat, he was insufferable and even I had foolishly convinced myself I could deal with him. I honestly don't think anyone could live with the obsessive detective, except maybe John Watson. I wasn't even convinced he could in some cases, I look back out the window of the moving train-emphasis on moving because it didn't look like we were actually going fast or maybe we were slowing down. I start to say something being started out of my thoughts when he is on his feet pulling the privacy curtain across the car entrance and watch him move swiftly to open the doors.

"I'm not jumping from a train."

Sherlock looks out scanning the area before turning back. "You don't have to." He starts out the doors and I immediately go to my feet. "Shut the doors."

"Are you crazy?" _"Yep, he's out of his mind."_ I already know the answr to my own question.

Reluctantly I do as he says shutting the doors and wait hearing voices and knocks on all the doors outside. I wonder what's going on before watching the door to the cabin we are in being opened after a brief knock. Two men search the cabin before moving on to the next. I didn't look up to meet their eyes or try to determine who they were. All I saw were dark clothes and heard accents that I gathered weren't anywhere near English. Sitting back I lift my knees to my chest leaning on them waiting for the lovely neurotic detective to return to the cabin. I feel the train jerk again into motion before sitting upright craning my neck seeing no sign or inclination of Sherlock coming back.

Slowly I uncurl myself from my seat and stand. I place my hands hesitantly against the door before sliding it partway open. I look outside the train expecting to find Sherlock there mocking me with that ever present smugness before seeing no sign of him anywhere. Searching the train I note train ladders that lead to the roof and wonder if that is where he disappeared to. I am one of those people that would love to climb a moving train but despite that I'm not as excited about exploring the unknown when Sherlock Holmes is involved. Wisely I lean back inside the car and slide the doors shut.

A half our passes and then on to a full hour before I begin to wonder if he actually fell off the train, that prospect-though it was an amusing thought-didn't appeal to me in the least. He was heading to London and going to reveal to Watson he was alive and well. It left me with the likely aspect of arriving in a town I knew nothing about, again trying to find a way to survive and worst of all the man that promised to attempt to help had disappeared from a moving train.

"I hate him." I decided aloud before flipping aside the privacy curtain and jumping back with a strangled yelp.


	4. Where is my Mind?

**_Don't own anything except original characters. All material (c) to respective owners. I write these for fun and make no profit. They're just random plot bunnies that live within my strange mind_**

A/N: New chapters up, more coming. Thanks for reading I appreciate it. :)_  
_

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**Chapter 4: Where is my Mind?  
**

Sherlock came in just then and shut the doors behind him before casually making his way to his seat. I stared at him for the longest time, his hair wild from his obvious train exploration and clothing damp from the snow that had started. Slowly I clench my fists preventing the urge to harm him and return to my own seat. He sits there casually staring out at the rolling trees as we continue on. He once again looks distracted though I have a feeling it was no accident that he disappeared for a reason. In fact I felt very uncomfortable when those men had come into the car seeking someone-I was pretty sure it wasn't something.

Sherlock sat there waiting on me for an answer but when I refused to say anything he found it irksome. Questions meant answers and his own form of questions would come so he could learn more. I being more stubborn than he guessed kept my mouth shut. In truth I was thinking I may say something that I would either regret or that would give him insight into my personal life. I didn't wish to share either ideal and still remained quiet.

Sitting there for a long time his finger gently tapping his mouth he finally looked up. "Did you see anything unusual from the two that entered the car?"

"No, I wasn't looking." I remarked scornfully, though they had given me the creeps and I shifted slightly uncomfortably at the memory.

"You're supposed to be assisting me Isabella, not hiding."

"I went looking for you and guessed either you fell off or went uptop." I retort feeling seriously annoyed with him at the moment.

"You felt discomfort." I gave him a look that implied 'do not go there'-Sherlock would never listen and had to continue. "What bothered you about them, I've watched you enough to know that you don't ignore the details like others do." Looking up I find this observation to be unnerving.

I had once been told by my own mother that I reminded her of this neurotic detective, minus the bad habits and lack of tact. I had laughed at least until she said she meant it. Now thinking back I don't find it at all funny, in fact to be compared to him now knowing him on a personal level I felt offended. I think back already knowing he isn't going to stop badgering me with questions.

"Thin, both of them though one was shorter than the other. They wore black, I had this urge to not bother to focus on them too closely, they freaked me out. Something shady about them set off my urge to keep to myself instead of getting attention. Something you should try to do more often." I add giving into my urge to be less than pleasant.

He made a face at my less than enthusiastic cooperation and settled back in his seat. I noticed his hands feeling about his pockets before he looked even more disagreeable. Finally he settled his hands in a praying fashion under his chin-I figured the lack of his pipe made his contemplative moments more difficult. I wondered how he was holding out when since I had met him he had not ingested any sort of chemical stimulation and was lacking his trademark pipe.

It didn't take me long to wonder what he wasn't sharing. He had known they were looking, he had already made a plan and once again I found myself left in the dark. I didn't even know if I should have any faith in him. Sherlock Holmes would do all he could to protect his friends, he had even tried to protect Irene Adler-though I think the mind of her own concept had been her undoing. I didn't fit in either category, I began to wonder if I could be considered someone of less importance. I might have even let the idea of his brilliance lead me to believe he could find out how I got here.

"Pensive, a new look on you."

I shrug not feeling the need to share. "I am quite capable of deep thought Sherlock." I fidget uncomfortably with where my thoughts had gone.

He sat there for a long while watching me, I hate when people do that because I can feel it. It's like a sensation of insects crawling on your skin and no way of removing them. Crossing my arms I look out the windows seeing we are at a steady speed and feel relieved by that. It meant no new surprise visitors right away.

"I can see right through you Isabella, your gestures and actions give away more about you then you would like." I clap lightly showing my sarcasm and pointedly stuck my tongue out though it felt incredibly childish on my part. "I will start with the doubt that I plan on leaving you behind to suffer some vicious wrath of my enemies. I do not plan to do so, though you hate it…you are a woman and I despite my somewhat obnoxious behavior-quoting you I may add-I do have some standards. I will keep my word for your help in the matter of making sure John and Mary are safe. I don't know how much I can help, but I've never given up without doing the most I can do. You've clearly gathered that it takes a lot to outwit me."

"Exactly, not even Moriarty's genius outwitted you. You proved to be the shark in that complicated game. Though you did pay some prices," I didn't say the exact ones but once again I knew that he most likely already was a step ahead of me.

I could be smart, I could be compared to him by family but one thing was certain. I am not Sherlock Holmes and despite any education I have from my own time, he can still be a hundred miles ahead of me and I would be left clueless. It felt alien being in this time and being with this particular character. I found myself curious to know if the author of the stories of Sherlock Holmes even knew how much of a real character he had created. Sighing I once again fold my legs tightly to my body and cradle my hands under my chin staring out at the rushing by scenery. I have no thoughts that really matter at the moment, I just think about how my time spent with Lianna had changed me from the woman I had been.

I had become a recluse for the most part. I had shut off from the world only allowing an old widow and her niece into my life. I had made no move to settle in any place in this crazy time and tried to purposely avoid letting anyone truly know me. I turned private, a strange concept for someone that back in my own time used to go out. Went to dances, camping and shopping; had fun nights with the girls and movie nights where we could stay up late having laughs or scares.

**Sherlock's POV**

Watching her he saw her eyes sort of become unfocused and wondered what she was thinking about. He could guess it had something to do with her past and present colliding. He had seen the same look before he gathered her emotions over the letters. Isabella was a complicated mess of emotions, woman and temper. He found it a challenge but had never expected her to lash out on him. He reached down feeling around his injured ribs, they felt good now and the bruises were fading but moving too quickly usually caused discomfort.

His arm had long since healed, the scar a heavy reminder at prices paid to end the insanity of Moriarty. The train begun to come to a stop, looking up he realized they were near Paris. A familiar stop he looked out seeing the hustle of a place he had seen when terror reigned in.

"Paris?" She looks around spotting the familiar landmarks from her own time and feels strangely nostalgic.

"A stop before going to Baker Street, for the most part I hope to find an old friend." She looks skeptical, he smirks that knowing way and she doesn't feel like the need to ask further. "How do you feel about Gypsies?"

**Original POV**

"Madame Zimsa?" His eyes shine with that gleam and I realize again I had been played. "You keep doing the games to get answers out of me and I won't aim at your nose next time. I'll go lower." He looked at me in disbelief, it didn't take his IQ to get what I meant.

"Noted." He stood leading the way out of the car stopping in his tracks.

I pause looking carefully around him keeping low. This time I am for once glad he's taller than me. One of those creepy guys are standing there observing him. I don't pay attention to him, instead I look around for the other one seeing no immediate sign of him. Now the question is what do I do while Sherlock beats this moron senseless? I step back giving him room and wait patiently. I hear sounds of the fight, watching brief glimpses of him move before moving sideways watching the assailant go headfirst into the outside door of our car and slide down looking to be either in a lot of pain or out cold. I prefer the latter.

I'm squished into the corner of the car and look sideways seeing an arm come into the car with a gun and react swinging my own down forcing the other attacker to loose his weapon and alerting Sherlock to the other one behind him. I move into the car and heave the doors open watching the second one go sailing out the door and land halfway down the steep incline near the tracks.

"I think they know who you are." I say watching him slam the door shut, seeing his expression I gather two wasn't the only number.

"After you, no throwing you off." He winks jumping down to the ground below before I do the same.

Unfortunately I have no grace and never had much to start with. I lose my footing managing to wave my arms wildly before something wraps around my waist pulling me to a steady footing. I look behind me seeing Sherlock look amused before leading the way, rolling my eyes cursing him under my breath despite the save I follow. I am reminded of that saying the blind leading the blind and hope we don't go blindly into some major trap.

Going through the romantic town I expected funny hats, couples around in abundance and striped clothing. I saw very little of that when Sherlock led the way through the streets. I eye small vendors and outdoor café's before he pulls up short near an alleyway set back in what appears to be a likely place for an ambush. Looking at him I see he's amused, I'm beginning to think he takes pleasure in making me miserable. I mocking his earlier gestures to leave the train indicate he can get kicked around first, that way I have time to run away.

His expression changes to disdain before he walks on ahead of me. I skeptically look around before daring to follow-though I would rather be elsewhere-stepping around things in the alley such as boxes, crates and other debris I purposely avoid identifying things that look like someone got sick on the ground. In fact when he rounds the corner both of us pull up short seeing nothing but a solid brick wall. Genius yes, but like most men that I've been acquainted with a terrible lack of tact to ask for directions-I groan putting a hand over my face and shake my head. I am beginning to see a pattern her which I wonder if it means that Moriarty threw him off his game or if he meant to come to a dead end.

Mockingly he directs my attention to a barely visible door to the right. It's an improvement over the dead end theory, though his superiority complex again peeves me right off. I remind him very subtle that I'm no push over to violence but instead redirect my hand slapping the wall. It's a vain reminder that I could actually cause more issue than help.

I rub my palm as he steps past tapping on the door. I see something move inside behind the glass before hearing something that sounds like a crash. I don't like that in the least, he reaches out to the door but for some reason I reach out pulling his wrist back. He meets my gaze searchingly before pulling back and stepping back. Recognizing the maneuver I move to the side wincing at the crash when his foot meets the door throwing it open. There's a startled cry before I hear something shatter and peer in watching another of the strange men crumple to the ground.

"Their turning up like roaches." I see Sherlock duck before I follow suit seeing a man appear a glass bottler-what was left of one-in his hand staring at him like he's seen a ghost. "Did you fail to inform your buddy that you are in fact _not_ a phantom?" I recognize the gypsy as the close friend of Madam Zimza and see him drop the bottle in fright.

Going shades paler than his dark skin I wonder if white streaks will appear in his hair. He steps back indirectly due to his fear causing him to stumble over another of the strange figures. Sherlock steps inside the room talking softly trying to calm him, at this time I find myself seeing him regaining some color and note he's wearing ragged trousers, long jacket and the scarf he had taken from Watson. I wonder if he thinks this is a spirit he's encountered seeking vengeance for his unfair doing.

"These people have been chasing Zimza around?" I snap to attention seeing our friend had lost the essence of seeing a specter and is alert to Sherlock's questions.

"Yes, she was convinced of your demise as were your friends. She felt there was nowhere to turn, she hasn't left the encampment since your memorial service." I remember that part in the movie and flinch, Watson was going to throttle him but before or after being grateful to see him alive was still up in the air. "These men belong to someone seeking the one we were after…the sharp shooter." I blink sorting my thoughts trying to remember his name.

I recall Watson explaining he was a former military sharp shooter with a dishonorable discharge. "Moran?" the man finally taking his attention off Sherlock stares at me looking perplexed by my presence before looking to Sherlock for clarification and nodding. "I expected that, he seemed sincerely close to Moriarty…like you are to John." He didn't like my comparison but didn't argue my point either.

"We need transport to the train that will get us to London the fastest." Sherlock was far from humbled by the knowledge Moran was hunting him down. "Zimza should know that I'm alive…however she needs to remain in the encampment where she is most likely safest." He nodded before darting out of the building past me and leaving Sherlock to study the villians that had been the cause of the latest misery in my life-other than him of course. "What do you know of Moran Isabella?"

I sigh leaning casually against the frame taking in the building that looks ready to fall in. It smells of old dampness, I can hear small squeaks from someplace in the darkness and take in that the building has been abandon for some time. How he knew that Zimza's right hand would be here I could only guess. His question though is direct and judging by the hardness in his dark eyes I might wish to answer to what I do know of Moran.

"Honestly not much, just that he did whatever Moriarty wanted and was his personal assassin. It wasn't revealed what he was up to and I only know that he escaped during the chaos of Zimza's brothers murder." I tap the wood finding it appears sturdy enough which eases my cocnerns of the ceiling caving in.

"A tangled web of interesting chaos and the relative concept that just maybe Moriarty is either truly dead…or needing someone to tend to his every whim due to some sort of damage during our fall," I look up seeing an uncharacteristic coolness in his gaze and find myself bewildered by it.

"I didn't help him, I dealt with you." I say finding myself offended he would think me capable of hiding that kind of ordeal from him.

"You wouldn't have let him freeze to death." Sherlock hits on my lack of conviction right there-I wouldn't go hunting let alone leave someone to die, despite their evil ways. "Should I be worried when it comes to my death whether you will take a stand or cower?"

I glare before turning away and storming from the building. I don't need to be treated like some hopeless victim that won't do whatever it takes to survive. I never needed to do so until I ended up in this time with the madman known as a famous neurotic detective. I halt when two of the familiar darkly clad attackers from the train are present in front of me. Unfortuantely they are the ones from the train and the one on the receiving end of my tricky looks none to happy.

I lift my hands up in a placating gesture alarmed when I see his fist coming at me with brass knuckles. I duck landing harshly on the ground before wincing as gravel and debris bites into my arms. The other goes to lift his boot reading to take my head to the ground the hard way before I catch a glimpse of something dark and see him go flying to the ground. A few minutes later I watch the other hit the wall hard before hands are on my wrists hauling me to my feet.

"Holmes?" I manage confused by the quickly played out events.

"It would seem we've worn out our welcome." He directs us to the street, I have no qualms with following him and yet he still keeps his hand locked gently on my arm leading the way.

It isn't long before my arm feels sore from the movement of slipping in and out of alleyways. I look up when it becomes clear he's heading to a coach service. Resentful of the days events and mad that he thought I would hurt him I stop directing my arm free from his grip and rub the tender area. Sherlock stops short of turning another corner before peering behind us identifying for the moment we are safe from this men.

He waits catching his breath while I lean backwards against a brick building staring up at the sky. Twilight is evident with soft hues of rich blue and fading violet. I find my thoughts drifting to happier times when those colors meant safety and a warm bed. Looking up I stare still offended by the idea that he would expect me to help Moriarty let alone leave him to suffer some violent death. I don't know why but suddenly I miss the faith from my friends, I miss the cave that I came to call home and most of all I miss the idea of feeling safe.

Experience with Sherlock has a very humbling effect. Reality sets in quickly and I know beyond a doubt this will be most likely hazardous to my health. Lowering my eyes I stare at the ground rubbing my face with one hand before hearing him clear his throat.

"I shouldn't have assumed," in disbelief I find those dark eyes I come to know well and see the faintest hint of a resentful gleam-appologies obviously not his strong point. "Moran isn't the most important villain in this story…just the front man."

"He's equally dangerous because he would do whatever it took to avenge Moriarty." My voice is low, even I don't recognize the thought that is reflected in it. "Do you have any idea of how I got in your time?"

Sherlock knew this would come up eventually. "I believe that it happened in your own time. I don't think there are technological advances in my time that will get you home." He says truthfully taking a calculative risk he hopes will play on her deeply mixed up feelings.

"So this dragging me along with you is a ruse to get help?"

"My bringing you along is to get you out of a cave where you feel seclusion is the answer to everything." He said seeing I wasn't keen at all on his idea of help. "You had no one left, you were closer to the widow more than you think. You are the most emotional person I have met, somehow you keep them under control appearing passive, tolerant when on the inside you are anything but." I look at him long and hard, I feel nothing but a strange resignation knowing that everything he said was true.

"In not so little words, I have nowhere to go and that makes you my hero?" He snorted finding that disagreeable.

"You have nowhere to go…I am no ones hero."

"You're a hero to John," I point out before realizing that the alley we're in has gone dark and started to walk along the wall, Sherlock falling into step beside me. "You think Mary hates you. She respects the fact you would do anything to keep John alive and happy."

"She does hate me."

"She doesn't like you, she does however feel that without you she would lose the John she loves most. Don't let her temper convince you otherwise, you didn't run away from me when I told you off."

Sherlock looks at me as we walk down the street and hail a carriage. "I couldn't run Isabella." I look at the indications of his injuries and wisely say nothing. "You can never run from the truth…I need to keep them safe and in order to do that, I need your help."

I didn't know how I could help the famed detective, I guess though after considering my options it would be better than turning into some freaky hermit lady that lives in a cave. Shrugging I pause at the edge of the street watching Sherlock carefully examine the various people passing us with little attention on what we're doing. He looks convinced we're safe for the time being, I don't ask any questions climbing into the carriage wrinkling my nose at the strange chemical order that greets me. I turn around indicating to leave the carriage and see his dark eyes look at me in surprise. I step down to the ground rubbing my nose feverishly before seeing him glance it to see the issue and note his expression wrinkle in distaste.

He doesn't say anything glancing casually up at the driver, I think he's suspicious but I don't say anything. Instead he seems interested in my current wellbeing. Not that I mind, I still feel like my senses were invaded. Slowly I feel an arm around my waist finding it odd before being gently led over behind the carriage. I look up seeing he looks convinced that something isn't right and seeing that I feel a sinking sensation.

"Can you run?" I look at Sherlock feeling his hand gently lift my chin making me look at him.

"If I need to," I didn't feel steady but I also wasn't in the mood to end up on the wrong end of one of his enemies.

Sherlock's eyes had a dark gleam to them, an indication that running is a _need_ to do so. Taking a deep breath, it helped a little bit and cleared my head. He looks around the carriage on both sides. He looks far from pleased and seems irritable at best, gripping my waist he indicates the time to go and I bolt. He's right at my side indicating directions. I follow them feeling incredibly lost by the time he begins to slow. I'm trying to maintain some sort of breathing and grip my knees gasping for air. He pauses leaning against a wall both of us trying to regain our composure.

It isn't long before I take in our surroundings. The buildings look abandoned but the indication of many lights just states that it's late. I managed to breath somewhat normally and glance out of the alley we've hidden in. There isn't any movement but that doesn't mean that they aren't waiting for us to make our move. I feel a hand touch my arm and glance down seeing Sherlock looking out as well. He scans carefully before looking as unconvinced that I am that we in the clear. We had been in the clear before, it had proven to be a false security and clearly we had been kept track of somehow.

Walking down the street I stumble still feeling the sensation of nausea and pinch the bridge of my nose trying to get it to pass. I stop short dragging my feet slightly before taking a deep breath. I again find a hand around my waist keeping me moving despite my own reluctance since every motion made the queasy feeling worse and the vertigo even harder to deal with. I had no clue about chemicals, whatever had been in that carriage obviously didn't like me and I did not relish the effects it had on me either.

I hear the sounds of horses and look up seeing a renting service for travelers. Gauging his reaction I see he isn't keen on the idea of the place. I know full well it may because he wasn't enthusiastic about horses. He looks up at the sign before standing straight and preparing to knock on the door. Hearing noise from the actual stable I catch his wrist stopping him, I point and he in turn listens leaving my side going to the stirred up horses. Still feeling not so myself I follow, watching where I step due to the strong odor of horse manure and hay. I had ridden horses when I was young, I found them an appealing animal and had a knack for finding the wilder of the bunch. I had been told once by a good neighbor that the wilder ones liked me because I was a free spirit in turn.

Looking inside I see someone mucking out the stables and observe Sherlock standing stock still eyeing each horse with some apprehension. Moving slowly past him I make myself comfortable leaning near one of the stalls and gently reach my fingers out stroking the muzzle of one of the dark colored ones seeing he had yet to make his move.

"Sir?" the man stops his task turning sharply before lifting a lantern to observe his latest visitors. "Good evening," I see he's an elder gentlemen, tall and lanky with what looks like years around horses.

His clothes reflect he's been at this a while and he smells as bad as the manure he's cleaning out. He smiles at the greeting before tipping his brown hat and eyeing my still statue like companion. I see his clothing is of a dark nature and he looks to be unbothered by our visit.

"Evening, how man I help you?" His voice is warm and inviting I see that Sherlock's expression is stony though he seems unbothered and I continue since obviously he greatly dislikes the last resort.

"Are any of your lovely horses available for rent?" I ask seeing him brighten at the prospect of travelers.

"Yes, what are you looking for in a traveler?" he questions obviously reflecting on the idea that I'm a young woman.

I turn seeing Sherlock move into the barn still looking uneasy around the animals. "Something fast," I suggest watching his dark eyes widen before he pretends to be the ever impassive detective. "Something that won't throw two riders and one that can deal with someone with a lot of issues around them." I add ignoring the dark look aimed at me.

"I have just the one," he moves to the stall where I was earlier and leads out the dark chocolate coated horse, her main and tail black as midnight and eyes so dark they look like coal themselves. "This one will get you where you need to go. Just remember to take good care of her. This paper will get her back where she belongs after you're done." I take the paper identifying the horse, owner and place of return before acknowledging Sherlock coming up behind me with interest.

"You should fill this out dear." I hand the paper to him offering a smug smile before gently easing my hands on the horses muzzle and ruffling her coarse main. "Beautiful girl." I whisper softly ignoring the strange aversion Sherlock has to the animals and watching the gentleman get her ready to ride.

**Sherlock's POV**

Finding Isabella's soft tone to the animal made him realize what he was willing to do to get out of danger and to his friends. His dislike to the four legged menaces was not the easiest for him to admit, she knew his little secret much like John and didn't seem to care if he liked the idea of transportation or not. What had surprised him was her talking to the caretaker favoring a horse that could take on two riders, be fast and that would be able to deal with his discomfort around them.

He had expected her to enjoy this, instead she set aside her lack of caring about his personality traits and chose to be kind. Glancing down he scribbled fake names and gave an address where the horse would be found. This seemed to please the man much more than the information he had offered, it meant that his precious creature wouldn't be too far off from his own means of retrieval.

"Good day to you both and good luck." He resumed his work while Sherlock cautiously approached Isabella and the thing he deemed a menace to all transportation.

Isabella easily swung up onto the horse looking down and offered a hand. "I know this isn't your preference but I doubt we can do better with everyone out there gunning for you. Carriages are obviously somewhat hazardous." He eyes her offered hand before again focusing on the horse. "I know the front, back and middle are one of your pet hates…what choice do we have?"

"If I had a choice…we would be in London and all of this would be a bad nightmare." He looks up seeing her eyes dart down slightly before he snorts in distaste watching the horse move anxious to be underway.

"I won't let her leave you behind." Sherlock looks up seeing Isabella meet his gaze, her eyes are dark in the gloomy light but he can tell by various aspects she's sincere.

**Original POV**

I wondered what he meant by 'we' because if he had any choice at all he wouldn't have fallen to a possible death. He would have outwitted Moriarty and he would be serving his time, his reputation destroyed and his whole plans for a war that would distrupt the world put to ruin. Instead I find his words both comforting and somewhat painful. When this is all over I will just be another part of a case, I knew that he put aside cases when completed which would leave me wondering where I belonged.

I couldn't go home, I couldn't very well stay in this mad world of Sherlock Holmes-did I belong anywhere? Shaking aside the trouble thoughts whirling in my mind I instead swear to not leave him behind and try to get him on the horse. We need to get a move on and his lack of love for the animals isn't going to get us there any faster. Reluctantly I watch him easily get onto the horse indicating he had attempted this once in his time. I smile watching him glance around before seeing him place his hands down on the saddle.

"You can't stay on like that." I mutter rolling my eyes.

Feeling his presence behind me I sense the warmth from his body despite the bit of distance between us and feel strangely insecure with someone at my back. I had always had issues with people at my back, I hated it so much I would purposely shift around when I was in a public place just to be sure they weren't my enemy. I instead of letting this negative impulse reflect on Sherlock turn slightly seeing his reluctance to change his hand position.

"What would you suggest?" he asked bitterly at the idea of the whole mess.

He's close enough that I feel his warm breath but instead of being spiteful back I reach around gripping his wrists and place his arms firmly around my waist. I feel him tense seeing his eyes move down looking confused before I smirk smugly and gently tug the reins of the horse.

"I suggest to hold on." The horse easily is guided by my movement and begins a steady trot out into the street.

I feel his arms tighten and am now aware of him being closer than ever. It isn't necessarily an uncomfortable feeling but I had always been one that believed in the personal bubble theory. I wait for a direction and hear his reluctance before we start on a path that leads out of town. Judging by the thining of buildings and lack of people I can only guess that he may be leading us to a place to hop a train inconspicuously or maybe I can meet Madam Zimza in person?

Feeling tired is the main problem I'm having on this interesting journey. It's very, very dark but I by my own sense of time gather that it won't be long before dawn. Looking up I blink a few times trying to stay awake. Sherlock already had enough issues with horses, going to sleep on him wouldn't make it easy and I personally didn't want to hear any more complaining from him than I needed.

**Sherlock's POV**

He watched her closely watching her jerk a few times and mentally counted the reasons for it. He flinched eyeing the horse she was controlling and didn't relish the knowledge that sleep deprivation was getting the better of Isabella. In fact the idea that she would be leaving him to deal with it on his own worried him. He felt her begin to slip and righted her watching her shake her head fighting to stay awake, her intentions of being true to keeping him safe on the horse clear in her attempts.

"We better get to wherever soon Sherlock, otherwise you're going to be steering our lovely lady friend." She rubbed her eyes ignoring the huff when he lifted her hair out of his face ignoring the stiffening feeling she gave off when he did so.

"We're almost there." Isabella alert to him again moving her hair tilt her head. "Do I make you uncomfortable Isabella?"

"I have a personal space issue, you're in it."

"You gave little choice." He reminded startled when she jerked the riens forcing him to hold tight feeling the wind pick up and refusing to remove his hands to push her hair out of his face.

**Original POV**

I had enough of his attitude to last me a lifetime. I chose at this point to make him as discomforted as I felt and snapped the reins. I smile satisfied feeling his grip tighten feeling the horse pick up speed before widening my eyes in alarm feeling him bury his face in my neck and becoming exceedingly aware of his closeness. I had always had a trust issue, especially with any man being this close, I felt remarkably panicked and instantly forced the horse to slow down to a light trot feeling Sherlock slowly lift his head from my neck.

Hearing him mutter something I figured resembled a curse I feel somewhat relieved by the absence of his person. "Don't ever do that again Ms. Gracen." His voice sounds breathless to me and again I tense up feeling warm air near my ear. "It isn't very courteous to make my issues more dominant than they already are. You like John know what I mean."

"Why do you dislike horses so much, don't bother with the whole front, middle and end speech. Heard it before." Much to her own alarm let alone his discomfort the horse snorted attempting to rear. "Whoa!" she called easing back on the reins forcing the horse to comply before reaching out patting her neck trying to sooth her more. "I think _our _ friction is causing her discomfort."

"_Our_ conflict and hostility is because you don't much like contact from men." I blink at that, I again remind myself who I am dealing with and try to think of some way of arguing with him-there is no argument for the truth. "Someone hurt you considerably to be offended by my contact when I feel no attraction to you."

I reflect on the no attraction part, I didn't expect him to like me in a romantic fashion but him saying it with such disdain incensed me to a point where I did consider letting the horse dump him. Common sense kicked in and instead I made the horse stop and turned sideways nearly off the horse so I could meet those dark eyes.

"What is so wrong with me Holmes? I know you have no heart, you're to busy involved in the life of the game, the detective world. You need the thrill to live, the puzzle to be who you are and to always be an old lonely miserable jerk. _Nonetheless_ there is no reason to drag me down with you. I have no home, I could have stayed a lonely old cave idiot…instead I went to help you. I knowingly did all I could to get you back on track and stupidly let you lead me into your world. A world that in reality is dangerous, no one is safe and despite that you do what you can to keep them safe, what is so wrong with me exactly?"

"You're an emotional trainwreck." He surmised far more quickly than I expected glaring back at me with equal wrath.

"Then why did you bring me along?" he silenced at that looking contemplative, his hand seeking a pipe that still did not exist. "What did I do to make me so fascinating?"

"You reminded me of someone…though you seem wiser and I could keep you safe." I stare my mouth parted in astonishment-though being compared to Irene Adler did offend me slightly-I was far from as devious as she was and knew not to cross people like Moriarty.

"I was safe." I say though now I find myself unconvinced of that, in my experience with the legend of this man-nothing was as easy as it looked and he made it look simplistic to a point of unrational. "What didn't you tell me?"

He didn't expect anger to get the better of him, he didn't realize how thorough my knowledge was either and that gave him reason to consider his options. Weighing them carefully and deciding whether to actually say anything.

**Sherlock POV**

It was easier to let her think she had always been safe. Isabella contrary to her lack of involvement got involved the night she dragged him out of the river. He had gone into town and began to notice odd things, such as people watching her and more interested in him then her. He had even seen things that she had overlooked when it came to her friend. True she had been sick, hoever he had gathered that it wasn't necessarily fatal and had let her think that.

"Holmes!" he blinked aware of her pointedly glaring at him.

"You weren't safe," he said deciding that was enough for the time being. "You're safer with me, we need to continue."

She reluctantly snapped the reins watching the thickening trees begin to thin out and hearing noises in the distance. "I know trust is the last thing you will do with me," I shift back around to the horse, seeing strange flickering in the distance and see my theory of invading the gypsy camp is accurate. "If you know something that I overlooked and I don't like the explanation I won't hesitate to hurt you. Do we have an understanding Sherlock?" his arms tighten in response.

"If it hurts worse than what you like?"

"Meaning that you know something I don't like already."

**Original POV**

I relax a bit knowing that some sort of rest is in the near future, I don't know how much longer I can keep up at the pace he's pushing us to go. I am again aware of a severe lack of personal space hearing him breath obviously studyng the distant light. I again still at the difference in distance between us.

"I have learned many things Isabella, especially dealing with things as I do." He feels me tense and smirks at my discomfort. "Truth is often much harsher than the evidence leads. Sometimes a gentle white lie is easier than a hard biting truth." I don't further question him-I don't think I would like my answers. "Turn up here at the opening in the trees."

Doing so it isn't that long before we are literally swarmed from each side with Gypsy's, I watch several of them do a double take before a familiar face in the crows instructs them to let us through. I see Madam Zimza's right hand and remember our first encounter earlier that night. He looks relieved to see Sherlock though his eyes look to me questioningly. Sherlock with a bit of a stumble climbs down from the horse talking softly forgetting me. Relieved to be ignored for the moment I gently stroke the horse feeling her shift about nervously and realize she is calming down. It confirms the tension between us didn't help the horse much, though I felt something else had been troubling her and sliding down to the ground I look around seeing something around her back leg. I reach out pulling what appeared to be a very old bandage from the animal and see a gruesome sort of cut. This horse was injured and the keeper obviously didn't much care.

"She's been hurt," I blink surprised by a flurry of movement meeting dark eyes and see wild curls of dark hair spill down around a curious woman's face. "This looks old…the owner obviously didn't care for her much." I'm taken back to find Zimza at my side and glance around seeing Sherlock was well out of sight. "I never thought I would see him come in on a horse…your doing?" I nod though I'm still lost on how that egomaniac could ditch me so easily. "What is her name?"

"I don't think he gave her one." I reply still finding myself staring at the woman confused.

She's shorter than me by a bit though she doesn't seem to notice, she wears black heavy clothes and trousers which are baggy on her and allow her to blend easily in the darkness. She slowly reaches over examining the wound and frowns obviously concerned for the horse.

"You name her." I look at the sidelong glance she offers me as if waiting on an answer. "She is free spirited and a far harder horse to tame than indicated. I believe this is the only reason you got this far." I look to the beautiful animal and feel saddened that the creature was so bluntly used in this whole mixed up affair.

"Selkie,"

"A changeling creature of the ocean," I recognize Sherlock's voice and give him a pointed 'where the hell were you look' which he ignores, suspiciously I meet his gaze seeing he had known of the injury. "I thought it best she goes someplace where people cared for her. I didn't expect her to be tamed by you." I reach up and bluntly slap him though I avoid his face and catch the back of his head.

"She could have never walked again."

"She will be the swiftest horse here, you did well not to run her to hard." I look down at Zimza seeing her male friend tending to the wounded animal.

**Sherlock's POV**

The sharp snap to the back of his head was harder than he expected. Wincing he reached up rubbing his head watching Isabella's attention being redirected to Zimza caring for the horse with her familiar companion. She had warned him, he had known she meant it but he didn't take int to consideration she would be this fond of the menacing animals. He still found their presence useless. Music could be heard from the campfires as well as laughter and voices. He found his thoughts drifting to the night John and himself had come to the camp originally. He was astonished that the gypsy would eve welcome him back into the area. He suspected that she had yet to finish her grieving process and took notice to the heavy accents of black on black, she had been striped of all jewelry except the basics of her earrings and the necklace she wore around her neck. No doubt mourning jewelry in honor of her brother who had been brainwashed in the events that lead to the near end of himself.

"Tend to her," Zimza looked between the two travelers and indicated they should follow.

Isabella obviously wished to better pay her attention to the horse, however he wasn't as willing to be left alone with Zimza. He could tell she was upset, she blamed him in part and many other things. Sherlock did not know where he stood on the violence scale and would rather have someone watch his back despite how she felt about him at present.

**Original POV**

I look down at the grip on my wrist rolling my eyes wondering what else this man can drag me into. I could sense some hostility but wasn't sure if it was mine or ZImza's. I doubtfully look in the distance seeing the horse being led to others and can tell they are caring for her. I exhale tiredly and am aware of a curious amount of stares before observing a tent of assorted colors ahead of us and her leading us in. The flap has the same feeling of finality a door would and I purposely dislodge my wrist from his grip watching him dart a look my direction.

_"I'm not bailing you out of this one. I will just make sure she doesn't kill you."_ I smile humorlessly seeing his eyes darken and his expression turn resentful at my lack of assist. I chose to watch crossing my arms slowly and half expect her to go off like a truly upset female. Instead she offers him drink and turns her attentions suspiciously on me, I feel uneasy knowing her skill with a knife and wonder if avoiding Sherlock is the answer.

"This is the woman that aided you? How did you survive that fall Holmes? Why put your friend through so much?" ZImza's questions were hostile and with force but clearly Sherlock didn't see them in that fashion.

"She's the one that put me back together." Sherlock didn't seem inclined to answer the others, I had a notion that I could guess why.

"He wouldn't have survived if I hadn't for some damn reason went looking for the noise. He put Watson through it to keep him safe, though how protected he is now is beyond me. He knows everything." I can't help the sardonic tone, I know he's keeping something and I have yet to figure out how to break through that stoic persona. _"I like the forthcoming neurotic and high detective."_ I rub my temples already thoroughly sick of Holmes but lacking other options.

Zimza seemed to muse over what I said before looking satisfied. Sherlock pointedly gave me a cold look for my interference but I at present am too tired to give a crap. Instead I take in the assortment rich colors and design around me before watching Zimza lift something from behind her and stand. Her approach has me up in arms and I stand upright tensing for a fight I don't even think I know how to win. Instead she hands me a throw blanket that smells of spice, wine and smoke before directing her conversation to Holmes.

It's a review of events I already knew of so I take the blanket and curl it around myself feeling for once less anxious and more calm. I listen to them talk about how the hwole thing went completely wrong before seeing Zimza produce a pipe similar to Sherlock's. It is longer I notice but he seems to take what he can and lights to pipe clearly in deep thought. Distracted for the moment by the laughter of people outside and the view of dancers I watch in fascination seeing that they can enjoy life despite all tragedy that has haunted them. I smile lost in their lives, the joy they can find and wonder what my life would be like in the coming future.

I smell a sweet hint of spicey smoke and jerk startled by Sherlock leaning opposite me watching the group. Smoke curls around past my nose before he lifts the pipe from his lips and watches them. Zimza I see is outside with her group but is aside still in grief over her loss.

"She blames herself for not getting to him sooner." I want to object to that but he's right, she explained that she should have known him despite his changes. "From what I learned John will be leaving to Brighten in the next few days, I need to get there before they're gone." I yawn feeling drained and unfocused but his words sink in.

"How are you going to let him know you're alright without making him a target again?"

"Watch, wait and see if Moran dares to make a move, John in convinced that I truly died on the night I took out Moriarty." I stare at him carefully out of the corner of my eyes unconvinced by his methods even if I had known them to work in most cases. "He will get hope. No hard evidence."

"What about the breathing device you took from Mycroft? Won't that be hard evidence?" Sherlock turns sharply at that his eyes narrowed slightly-I refuse to look away already knowing that part because of my own time.

**Sherlock's POV**

He had his answer, Isabella was by far more knowledgable than he expected. It didn't shock him, he had already known her to have a list of things that would be useful to him. Though keeping her close had become a bit of a chore, he found her intelligence at least somewhat more tolerable than most. She didn't surprise easily with his methods, she didn't necessarily approve of them either. He understood a few things about her through observation but she was still an enigma, a curiosity in her own right and out of place in his world. She could be helpful and a danger to him.

"Only John knows about it." She looks to him with a tired sort of half lidded gaze, it looks as if her fight has about left her.

"Mycroft, John and…(yawn)…you." She rubs her eyes tucking the blanket tighter about herself. "That's where your world ends in my time. I've lost my value." She turns watching Zimza enter the tent briefly before indicating where they would rest for the night. "Thank you." She says watching the woman pause at the tent entrance to talk with the most annoying man to date.

Seeing her surrender to the idea of sleep Sherlock looks to Zimza doubtful of her intentions. Isabella sleeping won't help him if she truly has ill feelings toward what happened to her brother and blames him. Instead she said a few soft phrases in her native language before her eyes focus on the dark ones uneasily examining her.

She plucks the pipe from his hand and take her own puff before allowing the smoke to curl between them and frowns slightly. "You would be wise to tell her why you brought her with you. The truth comes out when she can least deal with it may prove fatal to you Holmes. You can read the tarot well, I believe in the tarot." He snorted disagreeable with her words before wondering if the lack of sleep was getting to him. "She is not of this time," she said pointedly seeing as ever he he was indifferent to her accusation.

Zimza lifted a card in her hand and shoved it bluntly against his chest before leaving the tent. Taking a breath before examining the now sleeping future girl he picked up the card and flipped it around. His enduring patient and passive world faded when he betrayed emotion he could usually avoid. He stared for the longest time at the intricate detail of the card, the faded pain from several times of usage and with distaste slapped it down on the table to the side. He wouldn't let superstition get to him.

**Original POV**

Cold, I feel it even though I knew I had been covered when I fell asleep. Shivering I move close to something solid and tuck in feeling warmth. It is easy to go back to sleep at first, until something moves and reluctantly I crack open one eyes searching for the disturbance. Now starting to wake my other senses kick in, the smell of tobacco an assortment of things I had grown used to over the few days-that's when it hits-I try not to panic realizing that I had literally curled into Sherlock's body. Of all the things in the world to do I do something this stupid.

I can see the smug look in my minds eye and chose to face him even though I prefer not to. Looking up after moving back I see that he's sound asleep unaware of what happened-thankfully-slowly I pull the blanket tightly around myself and mentally go over how many ways I can call myself an idiot.

I should have known better. "I assume you're done mentally beating yourself up?" If I could have face palmed myself I may have, instead I settle for ducking further in my blanket trying to hide my embarrassment. "If that is the case we have work to do Isabella." Sherlock gets up before I can share my unkind thoughts with him and sprints easily enough to the exit.

"I hate him," I decide once I uncover myself and sit up.


	5. Everybody's Fool

**_Don't own anything except original characters. All material (c) to respective owners. I write these for fun and make no profit. They're just random plot bunnies that live within my strange mind_**

A/N: New chapters up, more coming. Thanks for reading I appreciate it. :)_  
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**Chapter 5: Everybody's Fool  
**

Zimza chooses this moment to enter and pauses her eyes sizing up what happened before she entered. I don't need to be a mastermind to know my face is red and I feel this uncomfortable sensation that she may assume something totally wrong. Instead she seems interested in something on a table out of my view before she comes inside and tosses a pile of clothing at my feet. I study the assortment of material watching her distractedly go about the tent. She reminds me of someone distracted, trying to piece their life back together-I chew my lip thoughtfully knowing her problem in that area-she pauses in front of me hands on her hips.

"Dress, he insists you should be on your way." I groan sinking into my knees muttering unpleasantly about Sherlock Holmes and the chaos of his life. "Are you trained in any combat or weapons?"

"I can fight if I chose." I look up finding something tossed at me while she sifts through the material between us.

"You best choose to do so. You should carry a gun-"

Sherlock enters at this point and I'm suddenly grateful I wasn't in the middle of changing. "She doesn't shoot to kill Zimza." She looks up startled by his appearance and frowns her dark eyes searching mine for answers to his statement. "Do hurry up Isabella, it doesn't take science to dress yourself." He exist the tent and I just miss throwing what appear to be shoes also given to me at his head.

"You have the gift to aim well…it is easiest to hit the target." Zimza said clearly amused by my lack of morning humor. "Here, these are best for travel and questions won't be asked." She hands me a pair of trousers dark in color with an ankle length brown skirt and an oversized deep olive shirt.

I begin to dress finding a scarf to tie around the overly large shirt and tuck deep brown jacket matching the skirt over my arms before daring to stick my head out into the cold morning air. I instantly feel the bite of cold on my face and groan wondering why I had to get up when the worst of the cold is present. There isn't even a hint of dawn in the sky yet and I can see fires are now down to embers. We hadn't even slept that long, though I had a feeling I slept much longer than Sherlock did. I see it confirmed when a grouping of Zimza's crew are situated with one of their wagons and Sherlock is there talking quickly clearly confusing them more than they already were.

"Bella," I blink startled by the unusual nickname and turn, she hands me a card pushing it tight to my chest not allowing me to see it. "Holmes is a complicated, complex and sometimes problematic individual. He despite his brilliance can lack a necessary understanding of emotion. This is meant for you, you need to decipher the meaning yourself." Instead of worrying over the card in my hand, I ask my questions.

"I know most of that already," Looking over my shoulder I see he's waiting impatiently and pointedly motions me to get a move on. "Would you do it all again if you knew the outcome?" she seems taken back by this.

"I would, Holmes only sought to help my brother. He defeated the man that turned my brother into someone that I did not know. Now I help him even though I can't help my brother. It seems the right thing to do." I don't think I like her answer even though I know she's sincere. "You must go, this way we can get you to the train before being noticed. I hope you can run."

_"Run?"_ that only means one thing, we're going to be stowaways on a train that will hopefully get us to London. I know that he's heading to Baker Street and there will be no stopping this mixed up plan. Sherlock Holmes was dangerous only because he sought out answers, I had to wonder if I wanted the answers as much as he did or if I just didn't have the capacity to know when I was being stupid? Moving down the path I ignored the crunch of frozen ground under my feet and try to fight the cold that seems like its trying to claw through my newly acquired clothing.

I tuck the card deep into the pocket of my trousers under my skirt before getting the the wagon and staring at the square cover before seeing Zimza's right hand lift a flap indicating we had to go in the back. I ignored the unamused look from Sherlock and easily climb into the back before landing less than gracefully on the floor of the wagon. I cough softly finding my face buried in warm blankets and realize they must sleep and travel in it. I hear Sherlock climb in with more grace than I accomplish before hearing him share some conversation before being aware of the flap coming down and sitting up.

"You have an absurd lack of grace for a woman with your skills in the mountains." I sit up dusting myself off and lean back on my knees.

"Don't let that fool you Sherlock. I wasn't overly lithe in my own time, you're lucky I appeared at all agile anytime." I admit freely that I was not the smoothest of people.

I am incredibly clumsy, always have been and often had trouble avoiding the simplest of tasks without stumbling on occasion. I however make up for it with a quick recovery talent and an ease at falling without gaining too much injury at the landing. Sherlock looks unimpressed with my statement and casually leans against the rocking wagon staring into the gloom my direction. I meet those dark eyes but something seems amiss, he looks like he's absorbed in something that almost appears as if he's brooding. He seems less pleasant than usual and more aggravated than I'm used to. I find it unnervering and make my way to the opposite side chosing to look out the back of the wagon peering through the flap cracks and finding the cool air less harsh now that we're on our way.

**Sherlock's POV**

She admitted to having no real nimble qualities. He agreed though he had seen she had a talent for picking herself back up. She had kept him healthy during his healing process, gone out of her comfort zone to aid him. She knew everything, why she helped him at all had been her choice. He had no obligation to her and still he didn't feel the need to leave her behind to be some sort of source for his enemies. Sherlock in his thoughts realized he was selfish-though for his own means.

"Did I do something?" clearing his head he glanced around the wagon before focusing back on her.

He said nothing for a long time which only seemed to exasperate her. "You knew everything. Why did you help me when you could have taken me to the village and left me in some medical facility?" she looked up appearing to be anxious at the question. "You knew why I was in that water. You made no effort to seek out Moriarty or any sign of him. You assumed he was dead because of the condition you found me in." She looked down he could see she was upset and distressed by his words.

"I would have thought you were if you didn't surprise me like you had." Isabella was avoiding the truth, she was hiding something and trying to keep it in.

**Original POV**

I knew he wouldn't let that be it to this conversation, Sherlock Holmes was the most difficult person in history to fool-he even outwitted Moriarty though he had been his toughest advisory. Though knowledge of this gave me what I needed to keep a specific distance, Sherlock wasn't going to let me avoid him forever. I could try to bury my problems, hide my worries and bluff my way through it all. He wasn't that easily discouraged and eventually I would give something away.

He went to say something and stopped aware of the wagon coming to a sharp stop. I watch him draw a gun and find myself feeling queasy, I can't help but wonder what kind of trouble there is. He slides up beside me looking through the crack, I see his jaw clench and can only guess what may be a really _big_ problem. Light tapping intrupts my though process and I move toward the back of the wagon.

"Do you know Morse code?" I turn at his soft whisper-I learned it when I was a young girl, it had been a thing with my friends to use it so we could get away with a lot under out teachers and parents noses.

"Yes," I listen closing my eyes so I can focus better and turn sharply when I hear a light click. "Do you have to shoot?" I mutter worriedly before crawling back to the front of the carriage. "Someone wants to search the wagon, there's been thieving in the area and they now suspect them." He breathes out in impatience before eyeing the back of the wagon.

He looks around at the collective of things. Only an idiot wouldn't look under the assortment of things around here. Sherlock though had a saying, most people don't look at the obvious. Sherlock smirks that gleam in his gaze making me groan miserably before I rub the bridge of my nose. I do not like the idea of where his mind is going. I'm surprised when he grips my wrist pulling me to the back of the wagon. He throws about things making a hole among the collection and indicates I should climb into the space. I would rather not but do so-unfortunately I have faith in him despite knowing I should be more objective in this case.

I hear him still murmuring something under his breath before he lifts a heavy blanket and climbs in close to my side. I instantly freeze up feeling him beside me, he clearly ignores my comfort easing his arm behind me and throws the blanket over us. I close my eyes unsure of how I feel about this plan and am too conscious of his warm body against mine. I hear movement and hear Zimza's lead man telling them that they were just traveling to collect supplies for their families. Sherlock shifts close to me almost pulling me into his arms much to my distress, I hear movement and wince watching something smack near us before realizing his arm blocked the hard pole from nailing me. Hearing an all clear we wait for a long time, soon the wagon jerks indicating we're moving again and I let out a breath.

"Sherlock…can we move now?" I ask still feeling uneasy with the intimate feeling of him being so close.

Sherlock shifts though he seems to be getting closer instead of offering distance. "What happened to make you so uncomfortable by my presence?" He asked his curiosity getting the better of him.

"It isn't any of your concern." I really feel uncomfortable but don't dare to move, there's something going on and I still have no idea what it is.

Looking sideways I see he's still watching me and close my eyes wishing he would just back off. I didn't have to share every detail of my life, I didn't even belong in his world and here he is using me as a puzzle.

**Sherlock's POV**

Watching he sees her face redden and notices other traits of significance. Her heart rate and breathing has quickened, her body is tense against his and she seems unnaturally upset by contact from the opposite sex. He assumes a list of things that could be the reason but found it always more interesting to hear from the source. He did know though that a man had caused her distress at one time and that much to his frustration had him feeling empathy for someone. It was exasperating to feel anything, he only ever cared for very few people and could name them on one hand.

"I'm not an experiment Sherlock, stop analyzing me as such." She grumbles though her voice is very low, he's now close enough for her to feel his breath near her face and can smell the faint scent of tobacco.

"Your body language states that you are attracted to me." He said sounding disturbingly tolerant as one does with a young child. "You are resigned to get me away but make no effort." Looking up at the calm tone she finds herself lost for words.

"Holmes, please stop evaluating me. It's very unsettling." Though she found that she had a choice of being near him or the wall of the wagon, this caused her to feel panicked.

**Original POV**

I felt my own heart racing, he was too close, he seemed to not mind the snug space and that alone had my defenses rising. This wasn't some book or movie that had taken my fancy, this was real and he was verging on becoming too familiar with me. I had the urge to panic, to swiftly move away or even physically lash out but fear held me in place.

Shouting and a sudden assortment of movement got his attention. Sherlock vacated my side leaving me to sit there staring feeling a sudden coolness giving me back my personal space. To my own personal agitation I found his lack of presence made me feel vulnerable. I hated hormones and was beginning to greatly dislike Sherlock Holmes. I didn't swoon, I didn't fall for a stoic, impassive man that had more quirks than I had. He was a neurotic, obsessive and highly unstable individual. There wasn't an appeal, right?

Leaning against the wagon I had this urge to bang my head several times against the wall before looking up seeing Sherlock had exited the wagon. Uneasy at the idea of being left behind I scrambled to the wagon opening pausing long enough to jerk back when he poked his head back in.

"Are you coming Ms. Gracen?" I narrow my eyes feeling hostile but instead curb my urge and nod.

Outside the wagon I feel a rush of cold and tuck my jacket tighter around myself. I see trees, open road and fields at our back and a steep incline to tracks below. I hear them talking about the train and how soon it would be coming. We had just minutes to get down to those tracks before we would miss our opening. Sherlock lead the way starting me when he caught my arm half dragging me along. I don't stop realizing he's guiding us down a steady path, he's taking into account my less than smooth movements. I look up seeing the back of his dark hair head and know now I can't read him-not like I've been able to do so at all. Knowing his intelligence only had success in irking me. I wasn't stupid by any means, I was good at uncovering things that others had over looked. I had studied Sherlock Holmes stories for a long time, however I could not for the life of me get into his head.

The sharp sound of a train whistle in the distance made him pick up his pace. I gripped things as we slid, twisted and moved past low hanging branches. Both of us coming up short when the ground gave away beneath our feet-I react reaching out snatching hold of a tree freeing my arm and watch Sherlock easily recover now that he isn't burdened with guiding me. Looking down I see dark eyes shadowed by wisps of hair before he glances down at the tracks and then back up.

"We have to hurry Isabella." I look at my hands seeing they've gone white with the grip I have on the faded grayish colored bark, my nails scraping pieces of the tree in my attempt to calm myself.

Nodding I reluctantly let go and start to follow. He keeps going clearly aware of my presence, I can only hope that I manage to be at least a little lithe in the dash to the tracks. Hearing the train getting closer I finally catch up to him, he reaches out an arm stopping my quick decent forcing me to look up. I duck under his arm smirking for once glad I managed some grace even if it wasn't my forte. Once we're down on the flat ground near the tracks I see smoke in the distance and watch the train come around the corner. It passes us far more quickly than I expected, I wasn't used to trains being a normal form of transporation. I take off as fast as I can seeing Sherlock is already ahead and aiming to climb into a car.

I wasn't an athalete by any term in my own time. I wasn't the fastest runner, I wasn't the one that did the marathons and was usually the last to come in for anything athletic in any fashion. I am and will always be a book person, someone that did their adventures with a page turner or movie. I feel my chest burning in protest beginning to consider giving up and letting Sherlock finish this adventure on his own. I wasn't part of this world, he had friends that needed him and I had no place here. When he got tired of the enigma or solved all the puzzle he needed I would be of no use.

I yelp astonished when two arms firmly grip my forearms and haul me to the train. Reflexively I put out my foot giving myself a boost and come landing hard on top of something a little less uncomfortable than smacking into the wooden car of the train. Breathing hard I look up seeing Sherlock watching me looking just slightly winded. Realizing that I'm on him I roll quickly though land on the hard wood of the car and lay there trying to again breath. Closing my eyes I begin to breath through my nose trying to calm my breathing and forget my negative lines of thought. I had no choice no, I am now in this on this journey once again despite thinking to avoid it.

I lay there breathing feeling a hand gently ease against my neck and look up. "You're fine." Sherlock's dark eyes disappear from my view before I slowly sit up. "You're not the runner that aspects of your physic suggests." He walks to the back of the train car and sits among a collection of crates that looked to be bolted to the floor.

He's been studying my body? I don't know how I feel about that, feeling flush I am not really sure if it has anything to do with my sudden burst of exercise or if I feel self-concious by his observations. I slowly crawl over nearby but keep a secure distance from him. I don't like the idea of him having the advantage of being too close by to examine me anymore. Personally being around Sherlock I feel like something being over scrutinized under a microscope. I don't like the feeling of being evaluated like some unknown scientific discovery and he had that down. I felt like I was being dissected much to my own worry because it was far too familiar.

"Thanks." I say with little use for conversation.

Sherlock's brow lifts at the simplicity of my answer, I can see he doesn't much like my lack of forthcoming. I get the feeling he's used to more fight and a lot more sarcasm which has been my forte. He chooses to continue to try and understand the riddle of me, which I can guess by his disinterest in replying to my appreciation. I see him go off into that strange world where it looks like he's searching for all answers and gaining them with the smallest of glances here or there.

I curl up closing my eyes trying to get some rest-the way things have been happening it is pretty clear that I'm going to need it. I wonder if I was meant to be in this world, if by accident someone put me here because I could help the famed detective? Who would have helped him if he had been there without some wacko futuristic girl hiding in a cave?

I knew he would help himself, I wasn't part of the story in the ending of the movie and doubted that I just happened to make that ending true by being in the 1800's.

**Sherlock's POV**

Staring at the now sleeping form his thought wandered through events leading him to this point. ZImza's superstitious beliefs with her cards and how John would possibly spare him his wrath only for being alive-he had no answers. Rubbing his eyes he listened to the wind howl as the train passed through the mountains that would soon lead them to the harbor where he would be for once on his way home. He hadn't minded her companionship though he had no idea where she placed in this whole affair. Mycroft would be waiting when he arrived home, he would have papers for Isabella but that would leave Sherlock with a long explanation that even he wasn't sure had been explained properly.

"Why didn't you leave me in the water?" he murmured surprised when he got an answer.

"It wouldn't due for Sherlock Holmes's legend to end like that." Interest peeked he slowly turned seeing she was in fact asleep, the woman would answer in her sleep.

Sitting there for the longest time he wondered if she told the absolute truth in her sleep or if she could avoid it like she did when awake. Feeling excited by the prospect of a new way to gain information he decided to test this theory. It wasn't unheard of that people let their guards down when asleep and that they spoke freely and quite frankly during this time.

Instead of feeding his ego on the idea of being a legend he chose something to test his theory. "Your hair is auburn in color." He stated a blunt lie to see if it got the results he wanted.

"Blond or strawberry if you need to be specific." She shifted but didn't appear to wake.

"Do you find my presence repulsive?" it felt peculiar to ask such a question but her aversion to any contact had him wondering if it was him or something in her past.

"No, I like…you." Hesitation in this case appeared to be causing distress.

Isabella woke with a start staring around the train car before running her hands through her hair and looking down at the grimy floor. She had the nasty feeling that she had been revealed in some fashion and in turn looked up seeing Sherlock watching her with a calculative look.

**Original POV**

I felt like I had tasted something bad in my mouth. I had this decidedly cold feeling that just maybe I had given something away while I slept. I had been alone for so long I forgot one tiny aspect of my personality. I talk in my sleep, I also had been told I tended to say things that I tried to keep hidden. A bad experience in my past had taught me it best to sleep alone-or near someone I trusted.

"What did I say?" I didn't really think I wished to know.

"Interesting choice of words," I find his hesitance far from reassuring. "I found that at most you aren't disgusted by me as much as you appear to be. Your words were you do like me. So why is it if I am near you wish to be as far as humanly possible from me?"

"You have the emotional capacity of a robot. You've shut down for your own good and so you don't have distractions when it comes to your cases." I say without thinking about it and flinch though I keep my gaze leveled with the dark ones trying to puzzle out what I've said.

"Robot?" I mentally smack myself for the reference.

"A machine,"

"So I show no sign of attachment…example would be how John feels for Mary?"

"Partially, you find it easier to be detached because it leads to others getting hurt." Here he goes silent, his expression hard and distant as his mind considers what I've said.

If what I know of the Holmes stories is true, every woman that he showed any sort of affection to ended up on the wrong end of a case or an enemy. I see that it may have been literal in this world and wonder if my phrasing might have been a little harsh.

Sherlock slowly processes what I say and seems to consider it carefully. "So you are attracted to me but what you know of me has caused conflict?"

"What?" I raise my hands shaking my head. "That isn't at all what I am saying." I lay my head down in my knees in disbelief feeling my face warm at how badly I'm explaining this whole thing. "To explain things to you is unpleasant, I would be further ahead talking to something inanimate." I grumble to know one in particular.

**Sherlock's POV**

He smirks appreciating his deductive skills and how easily it was to get answers out of her. He didn't get the exact one he wanted, but he got enough to gather she helped him because she cared for him in some fashion. It wasn't just a sense of duty for her, something about him had convinced her he was worth fighting for and that she could be the one to help him back on his feet.

"What you're trying to say is you have courage, you stepped out of a comfort zone due to knowledge gained from your own time." He sees her wave a hand mockingly in the air, her avoidance of facing him entertaining him.

"Whatever."

Here is where things get tricky; he couldn't afford to have her let her emotions cause unforeseen issues in the future. He had to pinpoint the limit to her attraction so as to choose how much to share with her if something arises that isn't favorable in the ucomping events. Mentally he cursed the gypsy woman for getting to him, she couldn't have known that Isabella had an attraction to him. They had fought and bickered every since they met, more often than not he found her presence infuriating or a puzzle to piece apart-he found the idea that a simple card could decide whether this woman was meant to be there or not ludicrous.

"What do you know of tarot?" She still refuses to look up, her body language indicates she more than familiar with it. "Do you know what the wheel of fortune card is?"

"Yes," slowly he sees her jade eyes lift to meet his, she's clearly indecisive on where this is headed. "It will fortell of changes past or present depending on where it ends up in a reading."

"It would seem Zimza is convinced you are a driving force in where this story ends." He sees her visibly cringe looking just short of being hysterical before leaning back against the car. "What kind of force is that though? Will you aid the investigation or will something cause this whole case to derail?"

**Original POV**

I didn't exactly like his reference but understood the meaning. Something had changed since we met, something that obviously Sherlock Holmes himself did not appreciate or like. I had to wonder what it was. I would be an idiot to think anything along him developing emotion-it served no purpose.

"I would rather be an aide" he actually smiles though it isn't very convincing. "What?"

"I would hope you would be." Looking outside the car I see a drastic change in scenery and note the sky is an off gray color indicating daylight isn't far off. "We're nearing the harbor."

"Harbor, we're going to London then." He nods confirming my suspicion before I slowly move forward looking out at the flattening grounds and seeing a civilization becoming active with the aspect of a days work. "I'm still amazed at what you come up with, even if I know some of it from my own time." I made a mental note to myself-don't build up his already large ego-it wouldn't be at all useful to me.

**_Several days on the ocean_**

I never thought myself one to get cabin fever or especially seasick-however the later had proven to be the most discomforting the past several days. Today had been the first of many that my stomach had allowed me to chance being on the deck. I stood there among the massive ship staring out across a midnight blue ocean with hints of pink and violet in the distance. I had succeeded in being awake before dawn, my stomach for once wasn't the cause. Unease had built up in me, I had seen more curiosity from Sherlock than usual and had to think about a lot of things. The first one being if I was attracted to him what would it do to his story?

I look down hearing familiar steps and wonder if he ever sleeps. His survival rate alone should make him exhausted when he's on a case. "You still have a sickly tinge to your face, pale and withdrawn…are you sure being out here is wise?"

"I feel better."

Unconvinced he comes up beside me, he had gotten so he didn't seem to care if personal bubble meant a thing to me. I felt his arm wrap around my waist as if steadying me before becoming aware of smoke twining between us and glancing up. He had found a pipe to his liking on the ship and purchased it without a second thought. The tobacco he had now smelt faintly of a warm spice, something reminding me of a desert land. I breathed in the smell though not fond of the pipe smoke itself and glanced out watching the sky growing brighter with richer hues of pink and orange.

"Have you ever considered the term personal space?" He seemed amused by my sarcasm and instead looked down. "I'm not entertainment." He's clearly pleased with how easily he's annoying me.

"I've considered a great deal on this undertaking." It sounded like he had more to say but had chosen to leave me wondering. "We will arrive soon. I do hope you know enough that John won't actually kill me?"

"He made an honest effort when you threw Mary off the train."

"I had timed it perfectly, she's healthy and happy." The disdain in his voice made me smile, he clearly still resented her.

"She didn't steal him by choice. Love is an odd creature." He didn't seem to like this much and she felt his arm tighten.

"Explain this odd creature to me." I laugh shaking my head, the last thing I ever planned to do was lecture Sherlock on cupid and the strange method of attraction.

"I am not doing that. You are not that _ignorant_ and are clearly seeking out more answers." I didn't move away much to my alarm, I found him keeping me close to his side and staring down hard at me.

I hate when people tower over me-it's a very uncomfortable feeling. I feel scrutiny once again and wonder why I even try. Even in the time we've been on this boat he seems convinced I could turn out to be an enemy, either that or I've done something by complete accident and have no way of knowing what it is. I hate the feeling of attachment between us, it is all false and again I know that he's testing my patience. A trait of Sherlock Holmes that I had come to dislike on a very personal level, he had been doing this a lot as of late and I had yet to understand why.

"You seem convinced that all I seek are answers." I scoff deliberately giving him the look that means I know for a fact that is all he's after.

"You do seek answers, you are built to examine every minute detail and to explore all possibilities. It is your nature to scrutinize, you do so to a point where you purposely drive people away that you care about. Some still linger and even try their best to look out for you. One you often refer to as your nanny and John knows you well enough that it wouldn't matter what you do." He still looked like he was evaluating me-I still hate it.

"So why are you still here?" That was unexpected, in fact it actually miffed me enough where I felt injured by his words.

_Smack_

I wasn't beyond physical attacks anymore, especially when I knew he was well enough to suffer through all the trek we had done so far. He had finally pushed far enough that my dignity had been wounded. I didn't seem to have any self-respect left around him and sinking low enough to slap him across the face had been the crowning moment of our fights. He stepped back holding his cheek in astonishment, I then smiled mockingly before starting off down the deck. I had to get away from him before I did worse than slap him. I was at this point uncontrolled in what I might do to him.

**Sherlock's POV**

That had been a premeditated aspect he had thought would get him a decisive answer. Isabella had shown him how wrong he had gauged her reaction. He felt the familiar stinging sensation that still lingered on his face slowly subside watching her stiffly walk off down the deck, clearly she was angry enough where distance seemed to be the key. He watched her walk away and found his thoughts going back to how John would have handled a situation similar.

"He's married, clearly he can handle the female population." He rubbed his face slowly walking along the deck trying to decide if it was wise to go after her or safer to remain as he was.

**Original POV**

The only problem with the passenger ship Sherlock had found for his voyage back home was it was in fact exceedingly small for my taste. I wanted distance because all I could feel at the moment was resentment for him treating me so unsympathetically-I knew he wasn't the most emotional person in the world-I wasn't stupid, it was easy to understand he didn't react like other men should. Just the way he assumed that I had a motive other than being there to ehlp him had been enough to piss me off.

The world where my fangirlish ways had me helping him and being happy about it had shriveled up after just a week in a cave with the man. I had gotten so I truly wanted to help him, I realize I feel sorry for him. It is hard not to feel empathy for someone that had to shut down emotionality for the sake of those around him. I felt a sort of sympathy for him, I had always been one that sought out comfort from friends, family and even pets-Sherlock couldn't do that except for Mycroft and I had the feeling he was similar in that area. Genius for the Holmes family appeared to leave emotional detachment and a lot of unanswered conflict.


	6. Broken Open

**_Don't own anything except original characters. All material (c) to respective owners. I write these for fun and make no profit. They're just random plot bunnies that live within my strange mind_**

A/N: New chapters up, more coming. Thanks for reading I appreciate it. :)_  
_

* * *

**Chapter 6: Broken Open  
**

I listen to the sound of the ship hearing the distinct movement of someone coming up nearby and grip the railing of the ship curbing my urge to strike him. Sherlock obviously despite his intelligence didn't realize that women didn't forgive in such a short amount of time. In this instance I was just like my sex, easily hostile when a man crossed me. I wait seeing he keeps his distance and feel for once some relief. I can linger in my personal bubble for a short time, sort my thoughts and try not to harm the detective at my side.

Sherlock hesitated crossing his arms wise to my temperament. "My intention wasn't to offend you Isabella," I turn for once feeling the need to scrutinize him-I doubt I will see anything significant. "I didn't understand why you didn't stay perhaps with Zimza's caravan. You were safe with them and still chose to come with me."

"I had a choice?"

He rolled his eyes clearly finding my less than tolerable attitude to his likeing. "I hoped you thought you did, you're not a hostage."

"What would I do with Zimza's caravan? She clearly thinks I belong with you on this whole screwed up quest." I wave my hands around in frustration-when did I become a lunatic?

Sherlock stood there stock still his eyes moving with my gestures before I realized what I must look like to other passengers that may linger on deck. I lower my hands with some effort, though I don't venture to say much more. I'm letting my emotions run freely and he _isn't_ one that they sit well with. I pause watching him for some kind of response-I don't know why, it isn't like I'm going to get one. Men were one thing, Sherlock Holmes was in a whole category of his own.

"Do you think you belong on this…journey?" my words obviously in emotion still didn't appeal to him.

Cringing at the observation I still find that even with knowledge of his talent-he still throws me off every time. "I'm here." I don't even convince myself but he had that insufferable talent of hitting on many of my own doubts.

"You haven't convinced me." I glare at him in irritation, why did I have to convince him of anything?

"What do you want me to say, obviously you know more about me than I do myself." His dark eyes brightens at that like I had challenged him-stupidly I realized it could be seen as such.

Sherlock stood there observantly before relaxing his arms at his sides and again closing in on my personal space. "I want you to tell me what will happen. I contrary to whatever your world perceives do have feelings though I keep them better control than most. You do not, if I tell you every detail are you going to be smart or come running?" I gawk at that knowing full well my mouth is open and htat I probably look stupid.

Looking closely at his face I evaluate his expression trying the hone my own skills from years of admiring this man's stories. I didn't expect much, but I did understand something that I usually wouldn't-maybe he was rubbing off?-what knew was this was his way of testing me. So I'm emotionally unstable-that didn't mean I had to be reminded-he had been dissecting me piece by piece this whole time trying to consider, explore and examine me like one of his cases. He clearly had thought this through, but why test me?

"You treated me like a case this whole time, a puzzle to occupy yourself with while you found a way home." The accusatory tone in my voice even baffled me, I had expected to sound more sane than I was.

"In a fashion, I had other thoughts." Still confused by this whole problem known by name as Sherlock Holmes I have to think-firstly I feel heat in my face and can only guess I'm blushing-the reason though is beyond me. "I would guess you would go running."

"I would consider the options and then make a smarter choice then headlong into something." I snap finally fed up with the walking enigma of a man that had more ego than even I could stand at the moment. "Maybe ask John to shoot the bastard first." I say perplexed by my less than humble approach to this test of his. "Knock the threat silly, maim them-"

"Never take a life." He had thoroughly mixed me up so badly I had neglected the fact he had gotten very close again and had gently put his hands on my shoulders. "Satisfactory answer my dear Isabella. You would think before acting, a useful thing when being in this world." I groan feeling like he could play me like that damn violin he was so good at.

"I truly despise you." I state feeling the wind pick up and finding my head against his chest not such a bad thing at the moment. "You muddle up the most simplistic of ideas."

"You already knew that Isabella." I punch his arm with little force making him chuckle instead of being annoyed. "In this mystifying mess, just maybe my enemy will be taken out. You might not be able to go home, but you do have a place in this disarray." Snorting at that I look upward and see dark eyes observing me closely, I'm close enough to see hints of dark brown and amber color giving his eyes a sort of comforting feel.

"When you are back in your element you won't remember any of this. Your focus will be on the mystery of Moran and all these idiots chasing you." His expression turns sour at the obvious, whatever had just happened must have been interrupted by my statement.

"You know how to wreck an interesting moment." I smile at that before blinking looking up finding that strange gleam in his eyes and wonder why he had to be so complicated.

"Go jump in the ocean Mr. Holmes." I step back well aware of the less than obvius before gong back to the cabins.

I felt completely idiotic-my image of someone that was passive and stoic had completely crashed my image. I wasn't the most impatient person but I think I have run out of them for him. Of all the images he could have given me he made one thing very clear-he was still a male-he had been trying to make me think he was beginning to gain some understanding of how I might feel. In actuality I was completely and utterly confused. Sherlock Holmes being the only man that had that effect-sure I was attracted- but I wasn't dense enough to think it lead to romantic feelings. However how I felt and what seemed to be happening inside of me just didn't compute. None of this made sense, I wasn't supposed to have feelings at all for him. Attraction no shock-he was far from ugly-though his personality could be a lot to desire, I desired something but what even I didn't know.

Finding my way down the paneled walls I found they all looked alike. Actually now that I took time to look around everything looked alike, wood walls, red carpet floors and an assortment of colorfully talkative people passing by-none of which paid me any mind-gratefully I find the number of the cabin I had spent days in and all but slam the door. Sliding down the wall I cover my face trying to find some semblance, even a fragment of the girl that had fallen into this world and went out having no clue what to do. I am independent, self-assured and most certainly do not need a man to make me feel good about myself-especially Sherlock Holmes. At the end of it all I don't know if I'm trying to convince myself that I don't need him, or if it's the stupid ideals I put to a character that turned out nothing like the one I knew.

I look up stunned at the warmth on my face and find for some damn reason that I've been actually crying. I've become girly-why, I have no idea. I know the source of my misery stems from one man and I couldn't bring myself to go slap him twice in one night-no matter how much I wanted to do so. Groaning I shake my head causing my wild waves to cloak me in a stringy sort of web and remain there. He has ruined enough of my personality, he doesn't need to ruin every shred of who I am.

_Knock, Knock_

I look up finding any and all of my remaining patience shattering completely. The door opens albeit slowly and in steps the menace to my recent turmoil of emotional drama-I believe it's referred to angst-more often then not I had no idea what it was until recently. I see a hand lowered offer me help up, though I should know by now this is his way of control I accept it anyway. Standing I step back glancing up seeing those dark eyes focus on me, searchingly and instinctively I react-proving myself wrong once again.

_Smack_

Alright, two shots in one night how did he not see that coming? The famed detective with such high deductive skills he was sought worldwide, had just let himself be on the receiving end of a woman's wrath twice. I couldn't believe it.

"I do hope you find yourself soon Isabella." He rubbed his jaw finding this one much sharper than the last.

"I have!" I said with vehemence before my finger come inches from his nose. "You are a conniving jerk, you are nothing…like my world states." His hand locking around my wrist hadn't been expected, I tug on my wrist finding no leeway.

"Possibly your world exaggerates."

"No, it paints you perfectly…just not accurate enough for someone to think you're anything other than what I said before. Apparently you are not a machine, just someone that only observes." I hold his gaze feeling a sudden calmness come over me-not that I'm ever calm-but it's close enough for some clarity to rear a reality check for me. "An illusion of some great author, thankfully one that made you a legend," I yank hard finding his grip only tightening on my wrist. "I am warning you to let go."

**Sherlock's POV**

Her voice was cool, unruffled and the most he had heard her lacking the emotional mix he had been seeing since their first meeting. She finally come to some realization and unfortunately he had been the cause. Two slaps in one night were a new low even for him, when did women become so much trouble? He had reminded himself that she was a different standard-futuristic-he didn't envy any man of the period she was from. Isabella was a wild, spitfire of a woman with a fury not like those he had met in the past.

"If I do," Sherlock leaned in close watching her blink rapidly trying to lean away. "Where are you going to run to this time?" jade eyes searched seeking where this line of questions was leading to.

He had been coaxing her into whatever she hid from, trying to pry out her real personality and found that it was a lot harder to control than he anticipated. She was methodical in her own methods, it had taken him some rationalizing before he finally understood the biggest issue she had.

"I don't run." She snapped unpleasantly.

"Not anymore?" he inquired seeing her steady her gaze with his now finding there was a process to his madness.

**Original POV**

I didn't run, he was just trying to make me feel as if he was peeling down every barrier and conflicting issue I had swarming at me at once. He once again was puzzling me out, scrutinizing me for any weakness I inevitably showed not meaning to.

"I don't-

His grip tightened catching me off guard and with it he pulled. I lost my footing-typical to my lack of ability to be steady on my feet. I trip smacking right into Sherlock, he looks down amusement in his gaze before I realize he's close, again too near me for my liking. I find this strange before hearing something overhead and realize that we're coming into port. The sudden stopping motion of the boat reversing to come in at a more appropriate speed making me smack hard into him, looking up I mumble unpleasantly about the lack of warning.

"I had no intention of interrupting you, please continue."

"I don't run." I manage unconvincingly, I find it easily distracting being close to him and stifle the urge to brush back stray strands of hair coming around his face.

"You better get used to it, your choice of friends are noted for their choice of dangerous trade." He smirked smugly though he looked unsure, I knew why, I had finally found myself again and he clearly wasn't sure how to take it.

"We're friends?" He smiles albeit it seems force and releases my wrist. "Do you actually want friends outside of John?"

"I need someone that understands my methods, for the time being I hope you will be on my side when he tries to make an attempt on my life. I need someone to spare me a bit of grief." I laugh shaking my head seeing I have his attention.

"What if I take John's side?" He narrowed his gaze unenthusiastic with my teasing before turning leaving the cabin.

I follow though sensing I had riled him up-I enjoyed that part with all his manipulative concepts-getting up to the deck I look out across a gray backdrop of buildings, smoke and sounds that I have yet to get acquainted with. I cover my nose wisely when we leave the ship and stop seeing less than savory aspects abound. I sigh stifling the urge to whine before seeing Sherlock is already ahead of me crossing to the street. I run to catch up regretting it when I smack into a figure and pause staring up in astonishment.

"Excuse me miss." I blink a couple of times before realizing I'm staring up at the other Holmes.

Tall stocky with a round build and a neatly designed suit, upper class and looking about for Sherlock. I smile stepping back and notice that Sherlock is out of sight, glancing up at the elder brother I see him frown looking particularly annoyed. I remain staring for a moment before spotting a familiar dark jacket in an alley not far from his brother and walk over grabbing Sherlock by the back of his neck finding my wrist caught and him readying to take out an adversary. My feminine hand probably the only reason I wasn't sitting on the ground with him a half inch from knocking me senseless.

I point seeing him turn sharply, Mycroft looks astonished at the two of us before he seems amused by the reaction I got out of Sherlock. "Shirley," I stifle laughter at the name wondering how he can stand the nickname and pointedly ignore the warning look he gives me only successfully stifling my giggles. "This is the girl that helped you I presume."

"Yes sir, Isabella Gracen." At least this Holmes seemed a little more charming than the latter; though I knew he had his moments.

"She's a lot different than what I've seen you put up with." I find his tone and observations familiar due to a certain Sherlock Holmes examining me far too closely for my liking-great now I am being dissected.

Shaking my head I cross my arms chosing to watch the crowd instead of the talking pair. I knew that it was easier to watch others when Sherlock was distracted, being around him I think I have become paranoid. Exploring each face and evaluating their motives I start to feel like I'm on display and Sherlock is being sighted for a quick ending. I hate the lack of personal space he gives, I turn sharply feeling an arm reach around my waist pulling me backward before we slip into an alley out of sight. Mycroft is still speaking with his brother, clearly both of them saw something-I only felt like pray, didn't see anyone-it didn't matter. If I wanted a good survival rate it would be easier to let him control the situation for the tiem being.

I catch Mycroft's tone and find myself closing my eyes finding Sherlock stumbling over his explanation something I never expected to hear. "So you are saying she is from the future? Shirley you must have fallen harder than you thought."

"I would agree if I didn't find evidence Mycroft." I sigh finding the battle of the family Holmes unappealing. "I think I would rather deal with Mary, women from her time are undeniably emotional and seem to have an affinity to hitting." I hear Mycroft laugh at his acidic tone.

"If you weren't so manipulative it wouldn't have happened." I decide to join the conversation to defend myself-I'm not the only one at fault-he pointedly moves a hand in indication like I just gave him evidence needed.

Mycroft looked pleased that I was giving his brother such a difficult time. One thing didn't change-brothers loved to see the other picked on-it was like some genetic sibling thing. I had the same problem when I actually did put up with my sister. I see dark eyes narrow as if warning me to stop, I smirk shrugging indicating I didn't care if he liked me to share my opinion or not. He excuses himself a minute leading me by the waist again to the edge of the alley and comes so close I can feel his breath near my ear.

"You're not making this easy,"

"You never asked for me to make it easy." I reply discomforted by his closeness again. "What do you want me to do?"

"Show him something from your time." I close my eyes knowing this is a bad idea, I had no idea if I was supposed to show anything from the future let alone a few of my books.

"Are you crazy? How do I know I'm not screwing up my world by doing that?"

"It's my brother, it won't matter…we're alike." I scoff purposely pulling back and turn meeting his gaze.

"He's more tolerable." I ignore his offended look and walk slowly up to Mycroft reaching in my pack and hand over one of my novels, he eyes the book skeptically.

I wait for a good five minutes before he regards Sherlock with a more passive disposition than I'm used to from the obsessive one at my side. "Interesting design, technology has improved greatly. It would seem that some people still find entertainment value in books."

"They're very easy to come by, I like reading." I take my book back seeing a gleam in his gaze and sigh-yep definitely brothers-I hate the fact that it looks as though Sherlock is preening, like his ego wasn't big enough already.

"Shirley…do be more careful this time." I step back leaving them to their privacy, even if neither showed much emotion I could tell they cared.

The kinship between brothers was undeniable. I look up watching Mycroft pass tipping his hat before he climbs into a carriage and leaves us in the alley. I feel content knowing that his brother was exactly as I seen in the movie, though a few things worried me about him too. Sherlock stands stock still in the back of the alley in deep thought, I can see him toying with his pipe considering options. The wind down the alley causes me to shiver, I would have liked to have landed in a warmer climate at the very least-though I can't complain considering where I had been staying for several weeks.

"Sherlock?" I get no response crossing my arms and slowly walking back into the alley. "Holmes?" I again get nothing and wonder if Mycroft said something that didn't settle well with him-it wasn't like I like to eavesdrop on conversations-it only happened when I became involved. "Hello?" I wait still reciving nothing. "Fire?"

I see the slightest lift of his lips, I'm less than thrilled with the fact he had been obviously trying to irritate me. I guess it wasn't necessarily nice to embarrass him in front of his elder brother. I shake my head not in the mood for this and start out of the alleyway, I hear him fall into step beside me feeling an arm reach around my waist pulling me his choice of direction. Lately I feel more like I'm on a leash than having my own choices.

_"Let him lead me along, it isn't like I know where I'm going. I think he just likes to see how much I can stand before I break an arm."_ His familiarity with my personal space was becoming a problem-not for him-for me because I was beginning to like the attention. Sighing I watch people pass us showing little interest. I find this unusual due to his fame and then glance to my side seeing he has his collar raised and now that his hair is longer its easy for him to be overlooked. It makes sense even though I'm not exactly happy with the idea of feeling like a target.

"We're going to one of my favorite places. I need to make myself more presentable and have to put my plan together." I can only guess where this is going to lead. "Do you find fighting offensive Isabella?"

"No, its actually an entertainment aspect in my time. It's called wrestling and is violently fun, its known world wide as the WWE." I wish he would distance himself, I hate feeling like a human shield. "Isn't this a risk?"

"A calculated one." A deliberate move that could cause more problems than good, I wish he would state the obvious instead of using large words to avoid a point. "Do you wish to go someplace safe. I could make arrangments with Mycroft-

"No, that isn't necessary." I remember when Mary had been protected through his brother, I don't think I would have handled that aspect any better than she had.

"Seems the future holds many truths," I hear him chuckle and mentally kick myself for letting him get to me so easily. "Would you be so kind as to help me get my hair back to a suitable length?"

"What's wrong with this length?" I ask seeing his dark eyes watching me in surprise-I had always had a fondness for longer hair-he seems to think over my question before shaking his head. "Right, not suited to your time…I can try, no promises though. I'm no barber." He seems satisfied though I find his lack of comeback interesting.


	7. The Real World

**_Don't own anything except original characters. All material (c) to respective owners. I write these for fun and make no profit. They're just random plot bunnies that live within my strange mind_**

A/N: New chapters up, more coming. Thanks for reading I appreciate it. :)_  
_

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Real World  
**

I find it is fascinating to watch the way he travels unnoticed. It seemed easy for us to slip into crowds of people, pass unusual buildings that went from most likely modern for the time, to less than livable and yet people lingered in them. Buildings towered, leaned and moved along the street like waves from the ocean. The cobblestone under my feet felt odd when I figured how used to the streets in my own time and the idea that I hadn't been in a town since I left home. Villages aside they were far from this elaborate, feeling him pull me to the side I hear something slop to the ground and make a face-I knew history enough to know I didn't want to see what it had been or be hit with it. The further into the rough looking areas we got the more I noticed people dressed in less than presentable clothing, it was obvious there were prostitutes around and the male population's gentleman stature tumbled down to zilch. I find the changes intriguing being the one that had always followed close to history, learned all I could of European history and had a fondness for England back when I was in college.

The fascination faded when I caught whiffs of reality. My eyes stung with the unpleasant smells lingering in the back areas of this part of town. I made a face purposely covering my nose with my jacket peering sideways seeing Sherlock already a step ahead, though he seemed unbothered by the obvious. We pause near a large building that has black windows peering back, clearly there is now life inside and it appears that the majority of people don't acknowledge this place unless its nightfall. Sherlock leads the way around to a side door in a narrow alley and reaches in his pocket. I watch as he leans down to the door and slides a key inside before twisting it hard and hearing a sharp click sound. He goes inside but not before reaching out catching my wrist and pulling me along.

The door shuts behind us with the finalizing sound of a heavy bolted door. It is reassuring in the aspect that at least we won't have any surprise visitors. Glancing around I see nothing but gloom and pillars. Walking I listen to my footsteps echo in the empty building before pausing at a doorway and glancing out to see a large room full of stands. The middle encased in a circular arena with large wooden gates leading into it. I know this place; it was the fighting arena that Sherlock had fought in in the first movie. This was where he retreated for entertainment when something didn't settle well with him. I had expected this but still found myself taken back by the sight.

A hand lightly on my shoulder makes me jump before I turn seeing Sherlock looks amused by my reaction to the building. "No one is here right now Isabella, follow me." Key word, all I did was follow him and it was becoming bad for my health.

Stepping past the stands and rows of seats I follow past the first of the doors and glance in the ring as memories of the first movie flash through my mind. I still had to wonder how he thought so many things through in such a short amount of time. It was amazing to see it happen but even then I still wasn't sure how he did it, it was like it was truly mesmerizing. I pause at the hall watching Sherlock move off to the left and follow seeing him holding a door before I step in hearing it snap shut. He walks over to a stairway that leads straight up and knowing where it goes I move into the top part.

The first impression isn't necessarily a good one. The room is covered in dust, old sheets and things just like ghosts lived here in this attic. I had an idea that John himself was responsible for the condition of the room. Sherlock paused titling his head examining the room carefully before his expression turned from annoyed to somewhat grim. He must have known the reason for the way his hideaway had been turned into a silent tomb. I watch as he goes through tossing sheets aside and taking care to inspect his odd assortment of things he left behind during his previous experimentations and see his focus is on his own priorities at the present moment.

Taking into account that I might be ignored for a little bit I very gingerly begin to move aside sheets just in case what looks like furniture is one of his set ups for case study. I uncover a few chairs and a sofa, before pausing my eyes focusing on a violin. The gleam of the lantern Sherlock had lit for his project casting a shine to the rich red wood and making me smile. I knew in the books that he was good at the violin, often it helped his thought process and in the movie he seemed pleased to annoy anyone with simplistic clips of the strings. A master playing the fool just to find his own method among chaos-I realize I beginning to think like the madman leading me around chaos and cringe. Shaking my head I move on walking around the dusty floor seeing my footprints among the gloom and realize no one had been here in quite some time. Seeking out the dark corners of the room I find boxes, crates and other assorted things all of which are equally unkempt.

"I think he missed you." I say softly aware of Sherlock appearing to have settled and searching for something among the disorder of his own making.

He looks up from his search glancing around and looks uncomfortable. "I hadn't expected to find everything so desolate, I may have taken too long to return." I give him a 'you think maybe?' look and he dismisses it seeming to find what he had been looking for.

"Since when did you care what society thought about your appearance?" I ask seeing him lift a pair of silver scissors into the light and hand them handles first toward me.

"I don't." I smile seeing him roll his eyes clearly his show of minor frustration had passed. "I just have a preference to see my enemies coming." I concede to that, I could understand where he was coming from.

I move to the chair where I had seen his violin he lifts it gently into his hands and slowly moves his hand along the familiar sleek surface before sitting in his seat. I reach behind me throwing the sheet over him, he seems mildly perturbed at this but says nothing. Instead I hear plucking of the violin string and take a breath hoping I don't make him unpleasant. I wasn't kidding when I stated I wasn't a barber, I would be lucky to make him even presentable let alone make him look human. I silently hope I don't do anything to invoke his wrath.

I slowly begin to move through his dark hair amused that he doesn't seem to mind my fingers going through trying to clip an even amount of strands. In a short time I realize that he's lost in his own pensive state. I don't need to guess what might be bothering him, the idea that his best friend had believed in his demise must have been a major blow to his ego. I silently move through his hair watching his state go from thoughtful to mildly upset. Suddenly the plucking of his instrument stops and I take that as a sign he's satisfied with my half ass attempt at getting him presentable.

He stands ignoring the sheet and returns to plucking his instrument moving around the room eratically and swivels passing me before seeking something out among the chaos he had created. I cross my arms glancing around the tables and move forward eyeing an empty glass bottle, the label is faded so I can't identify what it used to be. It seems the neurotic detective with a fetish for consuming chemicals has returned. I don't have to be a genius to see that he's being odder than usual, this Sherlock Holmes was far more familiar than the pompous sober man I had come to know.

"I'm going to need someone to watch my back." I look up from the bottle seeing that he's oblivious to what I find a bad idea. "I'm going to collect some items, it will involve a fight downstairs and someone that can charm things I need." I stare at him hard, now back to a somewhat normal pace for him I catch on.

"Hold on a minute." I step past the table and come face to face with him. "You want me to use my womanly traits to distract people and _steal_ from them?"

"Borrow."

"That's intention to return, clearly you don't have that idea."

"Nothing valuable...and only one person." I don't like his tone, in fact I see him walk to a table in the back of the room and begin to sort out one of his costume ideas-such a master of disquise-not if you knew him well. "I need you to find out if John's on Baker Street…or with…(cough)…Mary." I don't get how this means anything significant.

"What exactly am I supposed to do?"

Sherlock begins to dig out prostetics and shuffles aobout an assortment of items on the dresser in front of him. "Be the victim." I didn't think I heard him right and pointedly direct myself to his side watching him at work. "I need you to be my eyes and ears around John."

"You want me to play a victim so he feels sorry for me and lets me into their lives?"

"Exactly."

"Victim how so?" I don't like where this is going-Sherlock failed to mention type of victim-he continues to dabble in his disguise avoiding an answer and I don't like that at all. "Holmes." He stops what he's doing turning studying me for a minute perceiving exactly how well I will like his answer.

Stepping back a few paces he fails to smile convincingly and directs his attention around avoiding my gaze. "Drunkard husband?" he's smart-I'll give him that much-he knew better than to use prostitute as a vice which meant he was beginning to understand and accept my personality issues that were not favorable to him.

"Drunkard husband, as in the kind that beats the wife after dragging her to a fight where he loses and takes it out on her in the alley? Where John just happens to come strolling out of after a fight with his winnigs or because he's reminiscing of times when he thought you were alive?" he nods fiddling with a tie trying to ready himself despite my lack of willingness to help.

"Yes."

I stare at him in disbelief seeing him for the moment put aside the tie and then begins to strip his shirt and vest. I don't care at this point and wait expecting more than a simple answer, instead he ignores me and reaches among his assortment pulling on a silky style blouse that is overclassed in my opinion, he then matches it to a dark vest and again attempts the neat tie around the neck. Seeing his struggle I reach out and slap his hands away ingoring his perturbed expression. Slowly I twist the tie in the fashion it was meant to be and then put in the fake diamond stud pin. He avoids my gaze eyeing my handy work before seeming to approve of what I had accomplished.

"You've done this before." I shrug seeing he's again trying to scrutinize me. "Elder? Grandfather perhaps?"

"Yes," I say truthfully watching him nod now disinterested before reaching for a pair of matching dark trousers. "I still don't like this idea Sherlock." I turn ignoring the faint flush to my face and go back to trying to identify things on the other side of the room.

I wait patiently glancing through the letter's Lillianna left for me before being alerted to sounds downstairs. I see that Sherlock is putting on his finishing touches before realizing that it will be showtime soon. I feel uncharacteristically uneasy, mostly because John is not dim like Sherlock would hope. Mycroft had pointed that out in the movie at John's stag party-so what point was there to this plan? I rub the bridge of my nose tiredly before glancing up at a hand that is offered in front of me. Glancing up I see the fake nose and assortment of textures to his face to change his appearance. If I didn't know him, I still wouldn't have believed his disguise-I was positive John might see past this too.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready?"

Sherlock sighed reaching behind him and handed me an elegant sort of gown that roughly matched to deep rich brown of his suit. I stare at the squared dress with the deep color and realize what he means. I have to change out of my comfortable clothes and go into the pretense of wife that gets beaten. Groaning I stand taking the dress and realize there is no real privacy up here. Bothered I pause scanning the room before Sherlock again is receptive to my discomfort and leads me to the far corner where I had left him. He turns sharply going back to where I had been and well out of sight. I have no reason to believe I have privacy but at this point I had little choice, it wasn't like he would react anyway. I slip out of my clothing folding them in a neat pile only after I manage to get the dress on and then swear softly remembering that this is the buttons era, no zipper issues.

Just one major issue, no way of buttoning the back like was intended for the clearly rich to do society dress. I sulk standing there for a few minutes realizing I am going to need his help. Troubled I slowly begin to walk across the floor and sigh seeing Sherlock was again interested in my past and scanning the books once again in my possession.

"You need assistance?" I hate when I don't even have to tell him my problem.

"Yes please." I chose to be courteous for the time being, especially because I don't think that I am going to like the end of this whole messed up plan. "Thank you." Feeling his fingers easily fasten the dress I let my mind wander places it _shouldn't_ be involved in and feel flush before stepping forward and turning. "Why exactly is this method better than just letting John know you're alive?"

"His safety is at stake." I look at him doubtful of this fashion he had chosen. "I can get close before he knows I'm alive, this way I don't endanger his life or Mary's." alright I get what me means-doesn't mean I agree with the style he's using. "Dark colors suit you."

I quizzically eye him before making the choice of not reflecting on the compliment. He offers his arm and reluctant to how this routine is going to work I follow his lead. We leave the familiar attic going down to the hall again and step to the door. Sherlock looks out into the abandon hallway before listening to the sounds of the crowd and smirking. I smile despite myself, somewhere in the strange fixated detectives mind he still has humor to share. He pauses at the entryway where it had been empty hours before and sees my reaction.


	8. Crossroads

**_Don't own anything except original characters. All material (c) to respective owners. I write these for fun and make no profit. They're just random plot bunnies that live within my strange mind_**

A/N: New chapters up, more coming. Thanks for reading I appreciate it. :)_  
_

* * *

**Chapter 8: Crossroads  
**

In spite of everything I find myself mesmerized by the crowd of people, the assortment of color and life. The smells aren't always pleasant but the action and the life I see before me is of people just enjoying the event for what it is. A good old fashioned fight and some stress relief to make some extra cash. Sherlock is peering around at the crowd his eyes fixated on the ring before I feel his arm tense with mine and direct my attention to the fighters in the arena. I open my mouth disbelievingly seeing a tall thin man-though built fighting in the ring with someone about thirty pounds heavier and a few inches taller. He smacks into the wall harshly, though it was the thin man that accomplished this feat and the larger man stayed there. He slid down the wall and remained a splat in the middle of the ring.

"I don't think he handled your apparent death wisely Sherlock." His eyes meet mine before his expression turns concerned when the larger man gets up. "That isn't good."

We both wince seeing the bigger man lash out though he howls in pain when the opponent clearly John Watson dodges and reaches up with an upper cut to the gut forcing big guy down again. Sherlock starts toward the ring clearly in a daze over his friends choice of therapy, I grip him pulling him back even though I don't like this idea anymore than he does.

**Sherlock's POV**

He can't believe what he is seeing. He had been the one fighting, John did well when he decided to do his own ring therapy. He could see his best friend fighting someone bigger and that alone didn't worry him, the reversed roles did. Isabella's grip tightened forcing him to gather his wits and look to her seeing her move her head just slightly. If he intervened his plan would be void-though he didn't like seeing this either.

"He's doing alright Sherlock, you need to focus." She whispers, he looks at her astonished that she was supporting his scheme even after disagreeing with the idea. "I don't like it anymore than you do. If you want this to work out even if I don't agree…you can't help John." He finds himself torn, his usual approach to this would to be to go to his aid, ask him if he had lost his mind.

John had lost his mind, he lost his friend and chose a method to vent his anger.

**Original POV**

I can't believe that I'm agreeing with his plan. It isn't doing John Watson any favors and I can see Sherlock is torn between aiding his friend and sticking to his original stratagem. I watch John finally get what he had managed to avoid the past six times. A right hook forcing him to land to the dirt and a foot knowking the air out of him. I flinch not liking this idea seeing him roll to avoid another cheap shot.

"I can help John indirectly." I look sideways seeing that calculative expression and close my eyes wondering again why I still stayed. "This way," I feel myself tugged through the crowd nearest to the ring and get a more than good view of Watson going sideways from another blow.

I see John leaning there heavily on the gate, his blue gaze closing tiredly before he rubs his face and is back in the ring. "How are you going to help the good doctor exactly?" I ask seeing nasty welts appearing on his back where the big brute got him twice.

"Flirt."

"What?"

He rolls his eyes nudging me forward before I see the large man in front of me curiously peering at me with green eyes and wild brown tangles. I see him focus on me clearly distracted-I didn't know what-so I waved. John took advantage kicking the guy in the side of the head and down he went, I didn't foresee him getting back up after hearing the force behind the kick.

Sherlock drags me away from the ring over near the exit. "You call that flirting Isabella?"

Flushing feeling embarrassed I turn meeting his skeptical gaze. "I don't know how to flirt, I don't generally walk up to big scary guys and say hi big boy." I ignore the incredulous look I receive before glaring at him feeling even more awkward. "What?"

"You're a woman, isn't that generally how you work?"

"I never said I liked to flirt or was lady like in any fashion." I hear cheers and realize that the match is over.

Sherlock says no more to me on the subject of my flirting-or lack of my ability to do so-he leads the way down a familiar hall to a sidedoor that I had missed from before. I had been sure I had seen the exits, clearly I overlooked this one and could only guess why. He guides me out the door and I pause blinking uncertain of what the hell is going on. Stepping out beside me he shuts the door and navigates past me glancing out into where I assume the main walk is. I sigh leaning casually against the wall wondering how this is going to pan out. I'm startled out of my wits when Sherlock locks a hand around my arms and begins to pull me quickly to the end of the alleyway.

"How is your acting Ms. Gracen?" I shrug seeing a spark in his dark gaze and groan already guessing it must be show time. "Remember try to be gentle?"

"What?"

He smiles apologetically before I feel his grip on both my arms and realize I'm a few inches from the ground. Then he proceeds to yell at me-acting like the very drunken supposed husband- I admit he is pretty good at this, though I don't exactly know how to react. I wriggle realizing if he had been for real, I would have been in trouble. He was stronger than he looked and with the fighting he did for amusement it clearly did help him hone his skills. I yell back though I have no idea really what is going on. I see he's amused by my attempt to squirm loose and make it a point to scowl letting him know I'm not at all happy with this whole plan.

_CRACK_

I feel Sherlock's grip on my arms instantly drop lose and blink realizing I'm going to land on my face. An arm wraps around me keeping me from doing so and gently pulls me back away from Sherlock who is trying to get back to his feet.

"That is not necessary sir." I recognize the voice and slowly focus on my rescuer shielding me from a possible repeat attempt from Sherlock.

I star at the back of a now fully dressed John Watson. He's wearing a military style suit, light brown and a handmade scarf. I can guess that Mary must have made him another, he has his cane at the ready at his side in case Sherlock makes any attempts and watches him stagger to his feet. I smile despite the situation amused that John could actually knock Sherlock down a peg or two.

"I'll do what I like, she is my fiancé." That was knew-I wondered if Sherlock was event thinking clearly after the hit. "Wife, I mean wife." He sees my amusement and indicates displeasure.

"Fiancé or wife?" the questions is clearly directed at the one playing the drunkard. "Miss?" John turns slowly catching my eye and I look to Sherlock for clarification.

"Fiancé." I manage unconvincingly and see him nod returning his attention to Sherlock who is in the process of hitting him.

John catches his wrist sending him backward into the wall, he stays there this time and I can guess that this means he's done with the fight and has what he needs. "Keep her, she's useless anyway."

I wonder if I should feel offended by that, although the knowing smirk as he passes me is enough for me to answer my own question. I so greatly dislike him that I almost dare to punch him, that though wouldn't be favorable to the innocent battered girl ideal. I will get back at him later, at this point I'm on my own with John Watson and no clue as to what Sherlock had in mind. This plan sucks, it is one sided and I'm literally feeling around in the dark on what to make of it.

"Are you alright miss?" I rub my arms finding them unharmed even though John must have been convinced otherwise.

I look up seeing concern in his blue gaze, he's taller than I imagined which makes me again feel uncomfortable when he reaches out to aide me. I step back-I can see he takes that as a sign of familiarity with abuse-he lifts his hands in a complacent gesture. He looks like the kind type, just like he was represented in the movie and similar to the actor that also plays him. I watch him slowly reach out a hand and relent though I don't know what I'm supposed to do. He takes this as a sign that I'm not going to run away shrieking.

"Dr. John Watson." He offers smiling and at once I feel at ease, even if I still don't agree with Sherlock's plan.

"Isabella…Gracen." He nods looking after where Sherlock vanished to suspiciously. "He's not done yet." He takes that totally out of context and comes close to me much more quickly than I would have like.

"Come with me Ms. Gracen, I don't think you need to deal with him and my wife would like the company." I begin to suspect that Sherlock set this up for his camouflage experiment from the movie-I nod still confused of the great detectives schemes.

**Short time later**

Alright so riding with John wasn't the hard part, making up stories of Sherlock's character was. In fact by the time we did arrive to wherever we had been going, I had no idea where the hell I was. I have spent the whole trip inside a carriage of all black-thankfully chemical free-with John Watson asking questions about Sherlock. I wasn't even left with details of a story, I had no idea what method Sherlock had for this whole thing and had made up a lot as I went. All I could think of is Sherlock wasn't going to like what I came up with.

"Why do you stay engaged?" I smile at that, it reminds me of-why am I letting him lead me around on this whole misadventure.

"I love him." The ease of that answer alarmed me, it sounded far to realistic for my liking.

"He's lucky to have you and would wisely sober up for his own good." John opens the carriage door allowing me to exit, in doing so I pause staring up at a large familiar townhouse.

Darker than the deep color of the house during the day I glance around on either side at metal iron raillings before realizing where I'm at. Look at the address plate on the side of the house I see 221b Baker Street. I mentally slap myself, I was an idiot to think that John Watson wouldn't remain in the house hoping that Holmes was alive. I see a young woman exit the front door and pause her brow arching in confusion when she spies me with her lovely husband. She's petite, shorter than I am and has light sandy blond hair pulled neatly back. Her blue gaze meets mine with no suspicion much to my surprise-I would be curious if my husband showed up with another woman-clearly she knew otherwise. She waited for a minute before finding her voice.

"John who is the young lady with you?" I smile hoping it doesn't look like some grimace and watch her descend the stairs with her deep blue dress sweeping her ankles.

"Mary," John quickly explains the situation and pretenses of how he found me and surprisingly she doesn't react until he gets to the aspect of my so called not nice future to be husband. "So you see Ms. Gracen is in need of a place to wait for him to sober up."

"I see," Mary now turns her full attention on me and lifts her hands. "Mary Watson, it's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Gracen." I shake her hand though I'm under the impression she means what she says-she's going to loathe me when she knows my part in Sherlock's scheme-releasing her hand I glance around hoping for some sign of the man that is MIA.

"Isabella, please…both of you." I find Mary warming up to this and feel a light tug once she has my arm wrapped with hers-John wasn't kidding when he mentioned she needed company-I felt curiously discontent with this kinship feeling she was sharing.

Inside I pause glancing around the entryway with interest seeing that everything seemed to have it's place, I look up the winding stairs being greeted with the rich colors of green and earthy tones which are followed by an assortment of flowered wallpaper surrounding me on either side. I vaguely wonder what has changed and what has remained before I see a woman with graying hair coming down the stairs lugging what appears to be a large plant. She gets halfway her blue gaze glaring icily down at the green miniature tree before realizing there's guests. Smoothing over her black dress she smiles warmly before Mary leaves my side going to her and explaining the situation.

_"Mrs. Hudson."_ I wonder if she's working on removing the jungle that Sherlock had left behind in his study, I see John enter beside me looking at the large plant and visibly wincing at the idea that something had been disturbed from upstairs. I see he wants to say something but seems to take a breath before greeting Mrs. Hudson and informing her of my apparent visit, it would seem that Holmes's story is holding up fairly well.

Ten minutes later I am now off to the right of the entryway inside a room. The walls again are covered in rich floral patterns and the carpet is of a jade color. Inside the room is a sofa, two chairs-one which I am sitting in- and a massive fireplace with assorted things decorating the top of it. I stare briefly into the low fire glowing from the red brick before overhearing the happy couple talking softly about what a fool I was for loving such a scoundrel and how I was lovely and could do much better.

I scoff at that before remembering what had bothered me so much earlier. A proclamation of love that had been intended to be of a falsehood in nature, I had pondered this for the past few minutes before coming to an terrifying conclusion. I didn't dare think about the consequences of that idea and had promptly shoved those thoughts from my mind. I look up when Mrs. Hudson comes into the room and hands me a cup of tea. I thank her staring at the delicate china with the rose pattern and wonder what is up with the floral décor. Then I remember that Sherlock rents the place, it doesn't necessarily live up to his personal tastes-at least the downstairs-John and Mary both enter the foyer. They take their seats among the couch and continue to ask me questions that I have to make up answers for. By the time they're done grilling me I feel oddly dirty. I wasn't a good liar to start with, I hated being dishonest to good kind people and in this case I wanted badly to thrash Sherlock Holmes.

"Dr. Watson," Mrs. Hudson stands in the doorway looking at us. "There's a man here to pick up Ms. Gracen." John frowns visibly irritated at this news before standing leaving me to stare after him as well as his concerned wife.

"Don't worry Isabella, I'm sure John won't let you leave until your fiancé is well and sober. Then I think he will be sharing some words with the man. You deserve far better treatement than what you're receiving." Her sincerity makes me squirm in my seat, I really don't like this game of desception that Sherlock has put me in the middle of.

It isn't more than five minutes later when John enters looking pacified. "It seems your brother is here to collect you Ms. Gracen, he informs me that your fiancé has been dealt with and this whole matter will be cleared up." I wonder if the big fat 'duh' look has given him a clue that I have no idea what he's talking about.


	9. Follow Me Down

**_Don't own anything except original characters. All material (c) to respective owners. I write these for fun and make no profit. They're just random plot bunnies that live within my strange mind_**

A/N: New chapters up, more coming. Happy New Year! Thanks for reading I appreciate it. :)_  
_

* * *

**Chapter 9: Follow Me Down  
**

I go to protest the aspect of having a sibling, especially in this particular time and see my 'brother' step into the doorway. It's Sherlock, again he's in disguise though this time he's wearing a brown haired wig and silver rimmed glasses. His outfit changed little except for the jacket and a few changes to his prostetics that he uses in his obscure methods. I stand just barely resisting the urge to through the tea in my hand at him and smile gratefully to the Watson's. I walk slowly past listening to them talk to Sherlock, I find his hint of a darker tone amusing and know he's overdoing things but Watson still seems fooled.

"Do make sure Felix understands that I could have done worse." Sherlock nods saying he certainly will and condems his other character with the might of a true brother before following me to the exit.

Mrs. Hudson sees us on our way before we walk toward a waiting carriage. I see Sherlock indicate me first and do so before hearing him talking with John and then he joins me. I wait for the driver to get out of sight of the house before casting a dark glare on Sherlock. He watches me closely, I can see he's looking for a reaction and he knows that I'm just biding my time.

"I hate you Holmes." I state sharply, much harsher than I intended. "I lied to them, they truly believed everything I said and now I feel…sullied, unpleasant and it was all due to your damn scheme." He lifts a hand silencing me before glancing out the carriage windows and peeling of his disguise.

"I had to be sure he wasn't being watched. I had no intention of making you feel at all soiled…it is all for the best." I lash out letting my emotions get the better of the battle and kick him, he visibly winces reaching down to his leg and rubs it. "I expected you to go for the face."

"You're lucky I didn't aim hire and to the middle." I snarl closing my eyes putting my figners to the bridge of my nose trying to calm my raging emotions. "He misses you, he was going to tell mrs. Hudson to leave your study alone…she was cleaning out the aftermath of your jungle." Sherlock's dark eyes lower leaving me confused on what he's thinking at the moment.

"I've put the final piece to my plan into action. Things will be cleared up soon enough and then the real problems will begin." I look at him seeing he's all serious, his dark eyes tell volumes now that he's actually looking at me.

He lifts his pipe to his lips, chews on the end and then focuses on lighting it. "You mean we've had a cake walk since you started this whole premeditated mess?" He smiles though there is no humor in it. "Why did I ever listen to you?"

He doesn't answer knowing it's meant to be rhetorical and begins to go off into that thought process where I won't get to him for a while. I choose to let him be and allow my own dark thoughts to cloud over, including the ones that I had been trying to deny myself for the past several hours after the conversation with John Watson.

Why would I have sounded so convincing? How could I have made John believe that I loved my supposed fiancé sounding so sincere? I sat there in my own reflections trying to solve those questions. I felt like some idiot sitting there thinking over something so silly but then I was left alone to do so. What made me convince Sherlock's best friend that I sincerely loved this man, though it had been made-up to aide in a plan-it sounded far to genuine for me not to feel worried by it. I wasn't the type to swoon at anyone, especially some obsessive detective that had the habit of drinking odd chemicals at random and becoming so highstrung one minute and confusing the next. Sherlock was far from the ideal romance, he had issues such as emotional detachment, being absorbed in his own world half the time and that was just two from a pretty long list. I rub my temples trying to untangle the web of lies I had told John and sort out any truths I may have put within them.

The coach is stopping on a familiar street, however we do not get off anywhere near the building where the fights take place. Sherlock still lost in contemplation reaches over without a word putting an arm around my waist and directs my path to the building in the distance. I feel tongue-tied after sorting through my thoughts for so long-especially when I came to conclusions that made this far more perplexing than before. He guides us down the alleyway where we had come out of before, opening the door he lets me in first before locking the door behind us. The first thing I smell is left over stale alcohol, smoky smells from cigars, pipes and the like. I hear silence and make my way to the doorway leading to the arena where the night had taken an interesting twist. The place is a disaster, from lingering garbage to papers from the fights and the left over containers everywhere. I feel bad for the one that has to clean up the mess, seeing no signs of life I continue to stare flashes of John's previous fight coming back to mind.

Sherlock comes up behind me, close and now that I realize he has no consideration for personal space-I am more sensitive than before-his hands gently ease on my arms where they ahd been when his plan had been thrown into action. I wonder why he seems concerned and realize he wonders if the force he had used may have hurt. I turn glimpsing him out of the corner of my eye.

"I'm fine, you didn't do any damage." He nods though he doesn't remove his hands-I feel very conscious of feel of his presence behind me-slowly he guides me into the room and directs us back to the hall leading to the attic. "Did you set up the package to be delivered to John?"

"Yes, I also need to finish my camouflage for when it arrives." I nod easily climbing the stairs to the attic, I feel drained after the assorted emotional events of the day and pause galancing around the room seeing he had ordered everything to his liking.

The sheets were now tossed in a far corner off to my right and the majority of the room resembled that from the movie. Everything in it's place, assorted experiments in their place and others being started from what I can see. I watch him pass me going to a place where a pile of material is setting and see him go back to what he was doing. I hear him mutter softly about how well its working and smile. So I did not like his approach to revealing himself to be alive to John, it didn't mean I wouldn't help him-the being the fool-I stepped up beside him and knelt of the floor. He worked on the top of the material and I began to work on the bottom. Between the two of us I was sure that he would be ready and in that case I hoped that John could forgive me for letting him lead me into his madness, to go along with his strategy instead of choosing my own.

I found my way to the sheets after the long process of getting his camouflage finished the night before. It had been easy to fall asleep regardless of the hard surface under those sheets-though that hadn't been a problem for me-I snuggle into the sheets content to continue sleeping before hearing something in the room and moaning ignoring it.

"How does it look Isabella?" I blearily glance at the gloomy gray colored wall noting light and gather its early in the morning.

Rolling slowly over I rub my face glancing up seeing Sherlock modeling his accomplishment and smirk. "Unbecoming…but it will do." He frowns glancing down before turning moving to retrieve his long jacket. "How are you getting inside?"

"My house key." I should have known better than to ask such a stupid question. "Are you going to sleep all morning…or come along?"

The appeal of sleep at this point was seriously outweighing any need I had to see Sherlock accomplish giving his friend a close health problem, however the appeal was there and it was slowly pulling me from my need to sleep. To be honest again I was letting his excitement infect me, I come to terms that perhaps there was something about Sherlock I was in denial about but I had given up dwelling on it for the time being. The idea of coming along for the journey alone gave me motivation to sit up and get to my feet.

"I will come along, though I am not wearing this dress." I turn silently asking for his assistance and thank him before going to change.

I pull on the black trousers, long shirt of the same color with slightly loose sleeves that Madame Zimza had given me. I feel amused to say the least, though Ihave no idea why. I tie on the sash that matched my ensemble before reaching into my pockets and pausing at the feel of cardboard in my hand. Delicate and shaped in a small rectangle, I remember the card then and slowly lift it out of my pocket. I look down at it staring hard in astonishment before feeling my face warm. Instead of thinking about the card I put it into my bag tucked within the letters-the only thing Sherlock doesn't disturb-I then swing it over my shoulder and come out of the shadows hearing the slightest ping of violin strings. He's clearly thinking more over what is going to happen and stops when his dark eyes find me.

"Much more fitting." He states standing-I wonder if it's a compliment hidden in his usual stoic manner?-he again reaches around my waist and guides the way. "We're going to have to go in the backway of Baker Street, you will be around front waiting in the carriage." I nod as he explains his method of getting into the house and past Mrs. Hudson and Mary.

"I think he will wait to strangle you, he will be relieved to see you alive and well." He doesn't look at all convinced but does at least offer an attempt at a smile.

It doesn't take as long as I would have liked to get to the back side of Baker Street. I watch Sherlock step out of the carriage before he paused. I can see him taking in the figures on the street, the idea of threats being voided when he smiles seemingly satisfied. I watch him dart off down the back of the townhouses and am aware of the driver continuing the journey to the front of the house and Sherlock's residence. I close my eyes waiting, the only thing to really do and smile remembering how excited John had been when the idea of Holmes being alive had occurred. He had overlooked Sherlock sitting right in the room due to his camouflage, Sherlock had taken that to his advantage looking over Watson's memoires and smiled.

I blink hearing the commotion of someone on the front steps of the house and see John standing there searching the street for the delivery person. I had missed the delivery but not the reaction to it. I watch him rush of the steps combing the street oblivious to the coach not three feet from the house. He pauses in his search talking to the driver, I duck down to the floor not wishing to be seen and wait hearing a deep sigh before peeking out the window seeing John sulkily walk back to the front entrance of the house. It won't be long before more than excitement gives John motivation. I wait as he enters back into the house wondering how Sherlock will drop the news.

Waiting itself was designed to drive me out of my mind. I wasn't a patient person, I knew how the story began but had no idea the ending. I began to doubt that John wouldn't at least knock Sherlock across the mouth, though he seemed to handle it fairly well. A few minutes went by before I hear the front of the doors open and duck back into the carriage out of sight.

"Would you be so kind as to join us Isabella?" I recoil at the slightly frosty tone to her voice and realize the news had already been accomplished and clearly Mary wasn't keen on the method.


	10. Tough as Broken Hopes

**_Don't own anything except original characters. All material (c) to respective owners. I write these for fun and make no profit. They're just random plot bunnies that live within my strange mind_**

A/N: New chapters up. Thanks for reading I appreciate it. :)_  
_

* * *

**Chapter 10: Tough as Broken Hopes  
**

I slowly open the carriage and step out seeing disdain reflected in her eyes, the night before it had been sympathy and a sort of need for a friend. "I'm sorry Mary, I didn't want to hurt anyone." She studies me coolly but says nothing and indicates to follow her.

Sighing I feel wretched and do so, though I wonder if she even believes the fact that my apology was sincere. Stepping inside I hear yelling upstairs before pausing seeing her glance up before smiling somewhat amusedly, she glances over her shoulder at me and seems to see something that makes this more funny than it really is. She starts up the stairs and I follow staring at the memorable floral wallpaper and various knickknacks assorted on the furniture in the hall before she paused near a door. I recognize this as Sherlock's study and watch as she enters with a light knock. The loud voices cease before she steps aside letting me gaze in.

"Please explain my methods Isabella, John is being unreasonable." I part my lips startled by his insistence that I cover for him and raise a brow slowly crossing my arms.

"How is making me grieve for you for months reasonable?" John was mad I could hear the pain and true anger in his voice, hurting someone that cared for you wasn't a good idea. "I did the only form of-

"Mary, I know you have no reason to trust me right now. I truly sincerely apologize for causing you any distress. If you wouldn't mind maybe I can clear this up?" She eyes me still giving me that cool composed look, she understands I'm asking for privacy with Sherlock and John.

Though distrusting she seems to think that I mean this much and nods slowly shutting the door and leaving the three of us to argue points until the sun goes down. John regards us both for a long time before realizing what he would have said and covering his face cursing himself softly.

"Your therapy wasn't shared with you wife for obvious reasons. I didn't think she needed to be further upset with his return and my tall tales." I offer watching Sherlock's dark eyes meet mine disbelievingly, after all I was supposed to be on his side.

John slowly turns his attention to me, instead of anger I see a little bit of gratitude for my quick thinking. "Holmes it would seem Ms. Gracen has some sense, unlike you. Do you have any notion of how long I waited hoping you were alive? I heard nothing after your memorial from Mycroft and Zimza went into hiding. The only thing keeping me together is Mary, we're planning to go to brighten to have the honeymoon we didn't get. You're timing though I am glad your alive and well…it's decidedly bad." I smirk seeing Sherlock look ruffled but then again with Mary he always looked that way.

"I'm sorry to upset you." I hear the sincerity in his voice and again the stoic nature of Sherlock is forced into question. "I had to know that Moriarty was truly gone and that you were safe."

"He is gone." John says looking closely at his friend and sighing covering his face. "He isn't?"

"We don't know." I speak up seeing Sherlock trying to decipher a response. "We've encountered Moran and his newly acquired friends, but no sign that Moriarty is alive." Sherlock looks my way giving me an unpleasant look-I shrug in response.

"We are going to have a honeymoon Holmes." Sherlock goes to say something before I casually move into the room to his side and elbow him.

Sherlock gives me a look before seeing how truly relieved John is and the determination in his voice. "Very well John," he makes a face at the words and I stifle giggles. "Have your honeymoon, but please be careful. I will wait before revealing my survival. Though it may be best if Mary spends time with Mycroft again." I choke softly turning giving him a look. "Isabella, it will be hard enough keeping him alive and they know about you. Mary would be far safer with my brother." I don't believe that for a moment, luckily Watson married a strong woman to be able to deal with the elder Holmes so easily.

"Agreed…she's going to have another rason to greatly dislike you Holmes, she may be able to forgive you Isabella…eventually." I nod feeling just a bit annoyed with the events that led me to making an enemy of Mary because of Sherlock Holmes, but at least I would get the chance for being forgive-I doubt she would do Sherlock the honor. "I'm not saying anything until after the honeymoon." I admired John, he was a smart man when it come to his wife's temperament and Sherlock's schemes.

"I should have nanny show you to a room." I slowly look to see Sherlock lost in thought, clearly being back in his element felt good to him. "We're going to have to lay low for the week."

"Especially you." He pointedly glares my way and I smile smugly at the very least I let him know I'm not happy with his whole plan.

"Modern men must have an infinite number of patience in your time." I snort laughing at that and shake my head.

"Hardly, a few of them don't even know that men aren't supposed to beat us to a pulp." I look up seeing Mrs. Hudson enter the room, her face mildly pale compared to the last time I had seen her-I know seeing Holmes alive must have startled her-she peers between us before trying to at the very least smile.

"Dear nanny." She scowls her attempt to be pleased fading. "Could you please find a place for Ms. Gracen." Mrs. Hudson takes a double take at the kind way he asks her to do so before nodding and leaving the room.

Even I have to look at Sherlock oddly, I never knew him to be at all cooperative with Mrs. Hudson and far from civil. "What are you up to?" he looks sideways smiling.

"Do you honestly expect me to remain here for a week? My brain will turn to mush, they will be in Brighten." I wonder if Sherlock is indeed insane and hides it with is odd quirks. "Though I will have to be careful that we are not noticed, I plan to do some investigating." I groan covering my face knowing this would happen-I wasn't surprised-though it would have been nice if he had just remained at the house.

I consider my options, I could go ruin a perfectly good planned out honeymoon for John and Mary to prevent Sherlock from doing something rash. That didn't appeal to me, for one John had been through enough with Sherlock's heedless decision of keeping him in the dark; Mary hated me for playing along it wouldn't be in the best of my health to interrupt their plans. I know he intended for me to go to John, he knew I wouldn't and that in itself pissed me off. I hated being played and for some reason he knew every button to push and still remain in one piece.

I look around the main room seeing an assortment of book cases, dark rich green patterened walls and stare hard at the man now pacing in front of his desk. I see a few chairs, a couch off to my right as well as a fireplace to the left. In the far corner I see a smaller room off to the side and remember that had been John's former office, overall the jungle is gone but the musty odor of animals remain. Mrs. Hudson clearly had more work to accomplish before the room had been cleared of his last study program. I ignore the motion of him pacing-used to it from time in the cave- and walk over gazing out into the London skies from the large window in the back of the room. I see towering stacks of dark smoke, carriages and activity below. An overall equivalent of organized chaos with bits of color and variation thrown in the mix, I watch people pass along the street below, observe carriages and horses alike before seeing a lone figure walking swiftly toward the front of the house.

"Holmes?" I hear him pause accustomed with my form of gaining his attention. "Is that Clark?" he is behind me leaning casually over my shoulder staring down at the lone figure.

"It seems John is letting them know of my miracle survival." I find the joke far from entertaining. "It means John knows me well enough that I can't stay in one place for a whole week." I smirk realizing that John Watson is far smarter than he ever gives the man credit for.

"Maybe your brain won't be mush," I say finding his presence at my back becoming too familiar, I wasn't as tense around him now and found my thoughts darkening again. "You can work cases with just letters, it wouldn't surprise me if John had them bring something to entertrian you." He snorts unappeased by John's methods. "You brought it on yourself. You never know when you're pushing your luck, for someone so brilliant you can be stupid." I feel him lean close and see him out of the corner of my eye.

"I resent that Isabella." I laugh despite his close proximity, clearly the truth does in fact hurt. "You can help me solve them so I can investigate the aftermath of Moriarty." I stop laughing spinning around to face him.

"What good am I at solving your caseload?" I pay little attention to our closeness and instead focus on the idea he thinks I can help.

"You may wish to make yourself seem unintelligent but you're quite observant and will be able to help me make this go swiftly enough to do what I wish to do." I stare in disbelief feeling again overexposed-how did he know so much? "You wish to say something?"

I stand there thinking of exactly what to say, what can I say? Sherlock clearly during the scrutinizing and evalutating me knew more than I had shared. I stand there trying to figure out what gave me away, unfortunately I have no idea where to start and slowly lift my shoulders surrendering. Feeling petulant with him I slowly go to stare back out the window stopping when his hand gently grips my chin making me look into those dark eyes.

"Care for me to elaborate?" I feeling ill-tempered scowl-it won't do any good to say no. "You are always searching for something out of place, you find details that even I don't overlook but at times you choose to be ignorant of them. You take into consideration concequence, which I don't often do. You won't go headlong into something unless it is overruled by your emotions. You know quite a bit about science, you know a fair amount of things that involve work of a detective and are knolwedgable of this time period. You understand the psychological methods of human nature and know how to defend yourself despite the lack of grace you have. Am I close?" I stare at him lost on how to reply to that, he's good and I feel completely astonished.

"How do you do that?" I ask feeling resentful still.

"Observation, though you well know that." I sigh crossing my arms trying to decide what to make of Sherlock Holmes. "What I would like to know is your area of expertise, you have a few too many traits."

"History," He lifts a brow interested that I felt like sharing. "I worked disproving theories and in a history group. Though now their attempt to disprove your exhistance is futile, I know you're not a fictatious character." He seems a little bit offended by the remark, but I had shared enough in the cave to give him an idea of how I knew so much.

"So you know history, how are you familiar with law enforcement, psychology and the methods behind them?"

"I couldn't settle on a major in college. I followed law enforcement for a bit because my mother worked in a jail. I found it tedious and switched to psychology where I would have been fairly good. A professor complimented me on my skill in this area, however he asked me a simple question one day and didn't like the answer. If someone hurt a child and it was me to analyze and help, what would I do to the offending party." Sherlock stood there quietly observing me and smiled.

"I assume this would be a grown adult harming a young child in an unseemingly manner." I nod seeing I have his full attention which I find I like. "What did you say?"

"I told the professor that I would rip of the guys testicles and feed them to him. He said that I wouldn't fair in this for a degree and that's when I moved to history." Sherlock moved back slightly recoiling at my blunt phrasing before both of us are interrupted by Mrs. Hudson.

"Her room is ready Mr. Holmes." He smiles though I see the telltale mischief in his gaze and sigh.

"Thank you nanny." She walks out in a huff, I don't need to guess what she has in mind to say but am wise to know that she won't say a word in front of me. "Hello officer Clark." I look up aware of a tall man with dark hari stepping into the office, he's wearing the unfirom of an officer and is staring at him with an astonished look. "What can I do for you?"

I see the officer stand there for a long few minutes clearly at a loss for words. Sherlock leaves my side to speak with him, while he does that I watch the two exchange pleasantries before the questions start. John alert to the arrival of the officer comes into the study and smiles taking a collection of things from Clark and setting them on the desk beside me. He leans back against the desk observing the exchange thinking he had won the battle-if only he knew he lost the war-I smile though unconvinced anything will stop Holmes at any given time, he was stubborn and smug. It meant that he didn't right care who was there to witness it, he just had a one track mind and that involved solving this case.

John remained watching the events quietly before clearing his throat. "I hoped this would keep him in line for the time being, I wish to enjoy my honeymoon and not have him do something to cause mischief during it. Do you think you can keep him out of trouble for a week Isabella?" Looking up at him I see hope in his eyes-I hated Sherlock right then-he looks almost as if he is begging but not quite.

"I can try to do so." I offer hoping he isn't going to make me promise anything.

"Thank you, it takes a brave person to even try." I laugh not being able to help myself, he seems amused and still grouchy over Sherlock's lon awaited arrival to come back. "He's lucky that you found him, I'm glad you brought him home."

"He came home of his own accord, I just tagged along." I can see that Sherlock isn't at all happy, it would appear that Clark came with strict requests from Lestrade-I doubt he will listen to them. "He's not pleased with what Clark is saying."

John looked to me in confusion for a long moment before focusing on the pair talking. "It is a calculated risk, I hoped it would keep him safe for now. If he knew how hard-

"He knew how upset you were John, he just wished for your safety more than his own."

"How can you be so sure Isabella?" did I wish to reopen that can of worms-no-instead I choose to shrug. "A word of advice?"

I look up seeing he is deliberating on something. "What would that be John?"

"If you have feelings for him in the fashion I suspect…remember that he has only allure and no real understanding of emotion, only-

"Only the need to be curious despite the aspect of being involved with someone at one time, it is just another of a long line of puzzles to understand." He looks take back before nodding watching her with interest. "I know him far too well for my liking."

"You meant what you said in the carriage, even if it was under the pretense of illusion. You said it with true meaning." I flinch not wishing to remember that particular incident.

"How do I keep him here if he does manage to find a way out?" I change the subject seeing Sherlock irritably begin pacing the room after Clark bids us good evening.

"I don't honestly know." I know methods, though I doubt John would appreciate hearing them and I would rather not resort to such ideas.

Mary's voice rings up the stairs and I see Sherlock visibly clench his jaw, I can guess he wishes to share his opinon with Watson. Fortunately John has been diverted to a loving wife and promise of finally having their honeymoon. Peace and quiet, time alone and a chance to rejoice in the fact that his friend is alive and well-I don't think said friend sees it in such a light though. John leaves us while I observe the flustered Sherlock moving back and forth murmuring something under his breath as he sifts through the countless box of letters and papers which I know pertain to many usovled cases since his disappearance.

I gaze around the room studying the pattern walls before moving slowly to the couch. I sit there contentedly watching the world outside begin to go dark and sort my own unpleasant thoughts. I remember that card Zimza gave me, slowly I lift it from my pocket delicately twisting it between my fingers occasionally focusing on Sherlock who has calmed down to a slow crawl of a pace. He's drank various things, I don't have a clue what half of them are and seems quite clearly still focused on his own wishes opposed to John's plan of action.

I stare hard at the cared for a long time twisting it one way and then another. It still doesn't change, the image remains the same a colorful assortment of floral and human form staring back at me. I admire the detail before jerking when the card is snatched out of my fingers from behind-first mistake taking my eyes of him. I turn sharply reaching up to take it back finding him smirking curiously twisting the card to examine the images. He scans the image with a critical eye, twisting it and leaning more so toward the light source in the room. I don't know what he is thinking but I am embarrassed at the present moment and feel uncomfortably flush at what he may be thinking.

"She gave you a card as well I see," He steps around the couch moving easily to sit beside me and holds the card out teasingly-stupidly I reach to snatch it and it's again gone. "Why would she give you this particular card Isabella?" I shrug unsure of what to say, I knew why and had been trying to avidly avoid the subject and just gave up due to recent events. "Why the lovers card?"

"For someone that lives for logic, you know enough about the occult." I refuse to make another grab for the card, I reason that it is better to play along with his head games than make matters worse.

"You are avoiding the answer." He moves forward and I take that as my moment to make a drastic decision-not like I wasn't good at those-he comes close enough for me to judge his dark gaze trying to get a read on me.

I smile slightly focusing on his dark gaze, there is that infernal probing look, the one of infinite interest and a need to solve an unwilling puzzle. I am not a case, but to him I'm the most interesting oddity in this room at the moment. Seeing he's now distracted when I voluntarily lean closer I take my chance-snatching the card back and casually lean back tucking it back into my pocket and purposely ignoring the stunned man beside me.

"Were you a thief as well Isabella?" I shake my head disliking where his thoughts had gone, I wondered if he even knew just how much she meant to him until she was gone. "Peculiar, you have the motivation and the technique. You claimed you had no flirtatious skill."

"I don't, you are more distracted by the game instead of the person. It made it easy to distract." He didn't look like he found that at all amusing. "Does it even register on an emotional level of any sort?"

"What?"

"To care for someone?"

**Sherlock's POV**

Those words hit home, he didn't much appreciate the observation or the true meaning that he could see in her expression. In her case knowledge might have been power, but she had no intention of using it to force anything. Her natural need to understand his lack of attached state meant questions he wouldn't like.

"On an emotional level in my own fashion I care. It's the reason I use my talent to distance people." He answers feeling just slightly unpleasant.

"You trained yourself to shut off or you didn't let yourself develop emotional attachment. John is the closest you've come to caring for a friend." He nods slowly leaning back in the couch studying her analyzing where her thoughts were going.

"You know the other story, are you worried of my feelings?"

**Original POV**

I stare at him for a moment considering my wrods carefully, even though he keeps them well controlled it may only take the slightest of words to trigger a bad moment. I shake my head leaning forward on the couch comng closer to him, he's searching my expression for answers.

"I may know the story, it doesn't mean that I like how it ended. You do deserve some peace of mind." He leans much closer to me than I expect and the intensity unnerves me. "What?"

"I'm going to solve this case Isabella, I'm going to share the information with you and you aren't going to let some attachment issue cloud your judgment. I am not the type to get close to. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Crystal clear, you're a puzzle solving machine." I mutter sounding hostile to my own ears.

The acid in my voice I hoped convinced him that it was easy for me to dismiss attachment. He clearly had not one bit of humanity in his bones, just an engraved form of his version of right or wrong-thankfully for the better-still I didn't much like the feel that his words gave me. It felt like some sort of lsap in the face, a blunt mockery of a meaning he deciphered from the card. No care to how I felt nor the fact that I could be very moody when someone purposely tested my emotional waters.

"Yes, very well then." He stands reaching out despite my current touchy state and grips my arm guiding me to my feet. "Follow me, I will show you to your room." I feel a mixed mess of sullen, mad and sulkily follow him.

Down the hall from his study is a room with a dark wooden door. He opens it leaving me there standing in the hall before bidding me goodnight and I hear the door to his study shut. I step quietly into the room touching the door lightly forcing the heavy thing to close and lean against it closing my eyes trying to find myself again. For some reason Sherlock Holmes has the effect a tsunami or some other force would on my emotions. I reach up to touch the bridge of my nose instead I find warm against my face and snap my eyes open to see that for some reason I spared him tears. The man with no emotional force has me crying like some stupid girl, some damsel seeking something in him that I know well he keeps hidden. Stoic, stubborn and intoxicating fit him to a 't' the man with something that brings out the adventure spirit in every one he meets, in my case it also brought about feelings that should have been buried someplace where I couldn't touch on them.

"Bloody man," I find that I'm beginning to grasp the British slang though it isn't in a positive way. "How the hell can someone fall in love with someone so…impossible?" I ask aloud though I knew my own answer, because somehow I had done that very thing.


	11. Almost

**Don't own anything except original characters. All material (c) to respective owners. I write these for fun and make no profit. They're just random plot bunnies that live within my strange mind**

A/N: New chapters up. Thanks for reading I appreciate it. :)

* * *

**Chapter 11: Almost**

For once I look up seeing a single lantern set on a nightstand near a large bed with soft pastel green linens and look around finding a wardrobe, trunk and dresser of the same rich wood. Glancing down I observe the heavily ornate green rub with gold pattern before looking up at an ivy pattern on the walls. It isn't home but it will do, though I didn't really know where home was anymore. Not thinking was the motivation for me and in doing so I don't remember what I did do, all I know is the bed felt good despite everything that felt so wrong.

**Other POV**

Mrs. Hudson paused inside the room staring at the strange woman that had aided Sherlock in his way home. She had no idea why anyone would do so, she didn't fully understand the adventure that the pair had but she did know that the girl had been very upset. Standing there she lay out a rich indigo colored dress and left the girl to rest.

**Original POV**

I feel the bed give way as if someone is sitting on it before hearing the shuffle of paper and soft muttering. "These cases a child could master, why did Watson have to insist that Lestrade fill up my days?" I groan not wanting to deal with Sherlock and feeling wretched due to a pounding headache.

"Holmes go away." I manage remembering why I felt so low and rolling away pulling the blankets around my shoulders.

"I've solved these and then Clarkie, the dear brings me another slew." I somehow get the impression he won't go away. "This man ran away with his own sons fiancé and the family is oblivious."

"Can't you bother someone else?" I say feeling stung and not wishing to deal with him.

"It's morning dear girl, when are you going to aid me in my investigation?"

"When you apologize for being so callous." I counter fed up with his serious neglect of the human condition.

He pauses the ruffling of papers stopping and I can feel the tension in the air. I dare to roll over and see him sitting stiffly dressed in trousers and a shirt that has yet to be considered presentable. I wait for a response, any response would be nice and slowly I see him move gratning me his full attention. Sitting there I see his dark eyes searching my face, clearly the abandon of the human condition startles him enough where for once he cant respond. Emotion, he didn't have a clue on how it worked but he did in fact know that a woman scorned was a dangerous person to deal with. I think he figured I may have been worse due to the idea that I came from another time.

"I'm sorry?" I face plant in the bed moaning annoyed with the question.

"It isn't supposed to be a inquiry, it isn't difficult to apologize but yet in your case I see the problem." I supposed my muffled reply sounded similar to what was heavy metal in my time-noise, something that may give an idea of words but nothing really there but noise.

I feel a hand gently on my back and look up seeing he's again trying to inspect what he's supposed to say, scrutinizing me for answers which I am tired of spelling out for him. Slowly I consider my options, any sort of tender or romantic idea might completely befuddle Sherlock, I doubt though he's innocent-somehow though his easy practical nature made it idealistic to be ignorant when it meant something.

"Forget it, what do you need me to do?" hesitant he watches me with that same sort of rational thought process before I see a flicker of that excitement he gets when solving a mystery.

"The game is a foot, I need you to cover for me when Clark brings me another case load." I sit up never minding the fact he's in my room.

"What?" His gaze flickers downward for the longest minute before he clears his throat and turns sharply away. "I have to lie to Clark?"

"No, just let him know that I've locked myself in Watson's former office out of irritation. You're a woman, he will believe you." I laugh humorlessly at that watching him leave the room swiftly before starting to climb from the bed.

I stop looking down when I feel the blanket leave my arms and blink startled. I was wearing an oversized shirt and the majority of it revealed much more than I would have liked. Swearing I adjust the shirt remembering the sudden motions of Sherlock and blush. I cover my face wondering why I was letting myself be punished by whatever he could come up with. It didn't take me long to answer that myself.

**Four days**

I wake again to Sherlock's voice though he seems troubled now, in fact when I look up I see the room is still quite dark. "For my sake Sherlock let me sleep. I've been dodging Clark and Lestrade for you for the past four days, yesterday being the day that Lestrade proved to be much better at his job than you claim. I was lucky you snuck back in when you did." I reluctantly look up finding Sherlock frighteningly close and can feel his breath on my face-I smell something chemical on his breath, maybe it's more alcohol but I didn't know what I would be smelling. "Drinking again, what this time?" his eyes are unfocused-not uncommon-he tilts his head at the question.

"Absinthe." I stare at him hard lifting my head allowing more closeness than usual.

"You're drunk." He shakes his head calmly watching me. "Why are you here?"

"Research of the human condition you keep saying I don't understand." I watch him throw back something with a green tint in his hand before hearing it being set on the surface of the nightstand behind him. "I need to conduct tests for this."

"At…three in the morning? Just a guess." He watches me closely looking uncertain before trying to sort his clearly inebriated thoughts. "Sherlock go to bed."

"I'm trying to understand why you are so angry at me all the time Is-Is…Bella." I know he's hammered, he's so darn sloshed he can't even say my name. "I like Bella," I groan shaking my head finding his normal patient attitude missing just a bit unnerving.

"You're not going to experiment on me, I'm not dealing with you smashed and so in this case go to bed." I roll away ignoring the now intoxicated detective and try to sleep.

I go back to sleep purposely ignoring him, it is always easier to disregard him when he's like this. I learned this at least once in the past four days, this would be the second time. I wasn't on the receiving end of that drunken action, in fact the only thing that happened was he passed out in his study and crawled away from the windows as Mrs. Hudson opened them. I was fondly reminded of when John had done it in the first movie, this time though Sherlock charmingly left a mess for her to clean up in his aftermath.

I slowly wake up now well aware that it's morning, I can hear sounds from the street below and slowly roll to my side. I jerk startled to find Sherlock snoring soundly beside me on the bed-not the best of wake up calls-though I find it not bother me. I pay no heed to him and slowly wriggle from the blankets stretching, I feel a hand flop across my lap and look down seeing Sherlock moved and shifted much closer than I would have expected in his current condition.

"Wake up." I hiss hearing him snort but nothing happens. "If you puke on me I swear I will mangle your manhood Holmes." Still no response, I sigh rubbing my temples finding it much easier to get exasperated by him the longer I got to know him.

I lean down seeing for once his eyes aren't dark around the edges and he looks less bothered in sleep than he does in his waking hours. Gently I run a finger down his cheek smirking feeling the stubble on his face and can detect the briefest hints of his office. I smell tobacco, his choice of whatever drinks and hints of other things. His lack of hygene didn't bother me so much as his determination to prove Moriarty alive. I would think he wanted the man out of his life, instead it would appear Sherlock felt better seeking a ghost until a real case came calling.

"Sherlock?" I say in a soft voice gently brushing my finger down his cheek again.

He doesn't even stir, I sigh wondering again why I felt the need to care for someone so complicated. There had to be someone out there that I could like that wasn't this difficult to work with, this hard to explain a human condition of romance to. Who was I kidding, I swore not to fall for him and did so.

"Go away Nanny," I smile despite the disgruntled tone and gently lean down near his ear.

In a low voice I remind him of where he kindly passed out. "I'm not Mrs. Hudson Sherlock and you've passed out in my bed." I hear a sharp intake of breath, slowly dark eyes open glancing up at me before he sits up quickly moving away from me. "Morning."

**Sherlock's POV**

He sits there for a few minutes taking in the fact he was in the guest room before feeling a sudden sharp pounding compromise his thought process. Moaning he reaches up cupping his head and leans forward. He hears her soft laugh though it is carefully placed to not irritate his hangover, clearly she did have some sympathy despite his lack of such.

"You will be alright eventually Sherlock." She moves forward cupping his head and allows him to lean in her shoulder her fingers gently ruffling his dark hair. "You came in here last night drunk and explained you wished to understand the concept of human theory. You needed to experiment and came seeking me out. I don't think you were exactly thinking clearly." He finds her fingers soothing despite her explanation and vaguely remembers what happened last night-early this morning-he finds the soft scent of perfume comforting.

"Lilacs," He feels her fingers stop smoothing over the back of his head.

"Mrs. Hudson, along with the clothing," He nods feeling the light fabric of one of his shirts slide on her shoulder. "She seems to have loaned me one of your shirts."

"I loaned them, she did the shopping." He uttered daring to sit up and hissing at the return of the headache. "What did I drink?"

"I have no idea, you only mentioned absinthe…although not a great choice." He nodded looking around the room before glancing up at the jade eyes pensively gazing at him.

He rubs his face directing his eyes on the woman staring at him as if actually concerned. The selfless act of her trying to make him feel better reflected what he came to know as her human condition-her need to care despite his lack of need-rubbing his temples he found it only seemed to make the throbbing worse. He grunted softly before again trying to sort his thoughts.

"You didn't take advantage of my offer?" He looked up seeing her eyes narrowed in a familiar fashion. "I'm not thinking clearly." He defended knowing her ability of striking.

"I am not like that Sherlock…though if I hit you now I would feel bad for it." Grateful for that much he turns reaching for the glass he must have sat on her nightstand last night, sniffing at the contents and moving a finger around the edge he gauged what he had.

"I shouldn't have mixed." She blinks staring at him in disbelief.

"Mixed? You are insane, far from obsessive. You just like to test the limit of poisons." He found the lecture annoying at best. "What the hell brought you to mix things?"

"Theory, tests and questions," He saw her cover her face muttering about his stupidity.

**Original POV**

"You should have just asked…not tried to drink yourself into oblivion." Sherlock pensive tilt his head watching my reactions, I could see him thinking over my reactions and wondered why it was so difficult to read him-no visible emotion-is my answer.

"You wouldn't have given the answer to the questions." He pointed out sounding superior another of his traits that got on my nerves.

"You never asked a question." I should have stopped while I was ahead, he had been fishing and like an idiot I took the bait.

"Do you like me in a romantic sense?" It is too early in the morning to be playing head games with Sherlock Holmes-indirectly I invited this on myself.

I set there moodily watching him tilt his head, his dark eyes focused on me intently and waiting for an answer. A direct question that despite my brooding I couldn't ignore and was now put in a position-of my own doing-to answer him without thinking of what is going to happen if I speak truthfully.

"Define romantic."

"Romantic the idea of loving someone, showing tenderness and a sexual desire of human emotion-passion, the feeling of putting someone ahead of ones own personal desires."

I see that he has no trouble giving me the meaning of it, but the thing is he still doesn't get it. Defining and feeling are separate concepts-ones he clearly can't quite get-this is the equivalent of a platonic relationship despite the fact that I like him.

"It was rhetorical Sherlock, I do like you. The problem is you only understand platonic. Your interest in any woman to my knowledge is just because she outsmarted you. You were fascinated yet again by a puzzle." I could see by his pensive state that this didn't settle well with him. "To test the idea of the human condition you need to learn emotion. I'm not a brainteaser or a case, I'm a girl that has sincere feelings for a self-absorbed detective with far too much intelligence and a need to satisfy his brain more than his male urges." He sat there looking truly bewildered by what I just said.

He went to say more but the sound of Mrs. Hudson calling to him for his morning meeting with Clark stopped him. Instead he stood walking from my room cradling his head with one hand before peering over his shoulder and leaving. I sat there for a little while stunned by how the conversation had ended. Now being confused by what happened I wonder why I even admitted to anything, he still didn't get it.

**Two days**

I hadn't seen Sherlock in two days, except for the covering for him and being told when to do so. It felt like he was just some strange presence hovering to order me around. John and Mary would be back soon and I had failed in reigning in Sherlock's tendencies. I had taken to picking up after him, a feat that I didn't envy Mrs. Hudson. Clutter is what defined the man; everything had a place among an assortment of chaos. I had wisely just chosen to take out the things that would likely decompose and make him sick, the last of empty glass bottles I set outside the door for the kindly land lady and after reading the labels I wondered if the man had immunity to most poisons.

"Good morning Ms. Gracen." I look up seeing Clarke standing there looking weary even though his eyes were sharp and he seemed in good spirits.

"Morning Clark, what is it this time?" He looks over at the office curiously before focusing on me.

"I thought it best to bring him here before Lestrade found out." I stand from a chair where I had just finished sorting some stray papers that seemed of little use to Sherlock. "He's in better care here than a jail cell." Clark leaves the office and a few minutes' later drags in Sherlock who is unsteady on his feet and looks like he took a couple rounds with the giant man that had nearly killed him in the first movie.

"Oh hell Holmes," Clark smiles though my un-lady like comment clearly astonishes him. "Clark would you mind helping him down the hall?" he nods following my lead, I dart out into the hall and point to the only room I'm aware has a bed in it and call to Mrs. Hudson to get me some hot water and first aid supplies. "Thank you so much Clarke."

"You're welcome Ms. Gracen. I will take the case load with me and leave you to tend to Mr. Holmes." He bows out politely leaving me to wait on Mrs. Hudson.

She comes into my room after clearly looking in the study first and stops in the doorway. I thank her taking the items on a tray she has offered before asking her to fetch some tea and leave it on the dresser. I walk slowly over to the bed where Clark had propped him up against the headboard and see him reluctantly look up at me. This is far too familiar, though this time it isn't a dive off tall falls and lucky to survive.

I reach over to the warm water placing the cloth gently against the huge gash on his forehead and shake my head all the while cursing him for such unwise actions. John wouldn't have been any kinder, I get the feeling my lecture is nothing compared to the good Dr. Watson's accomplishments. Mrs. Hudson returns with the tea and agrees to leave us until I call for anything needed. Grateful to her method of avoiding knowing what Sherlock does I smile slightly before tending to the cut on his head and watch him wince when my hand grazes his side.

"Would you care to assess your injuries and fill me in since you're conscious this time?" he frowns at my frank tone and sighs.

"Broken ribs, bruised back, cut head and knife blade removed from my shoulder." He lists off looking wrathful in his present state. "Wounded pride." He added remarkably sounding humble which took me by surprise.

"What happened?" He looked cross but instead of acting offended winced at my gentle prodding of his wounded ribs.

"I got too close to finding out where possibly Moran's base is." I got it now; he went off on his own with no one to watch his back and ended up paying for it.

"Since when did you do something so uncalculated?" He now seemed insulted and refused to say anymore to me. "I wish John were here, you look terrible." I had already with much difficulty finally got him to remove his arm from his shirt and saw the knife wound in his shoulder.

Sherlock said nothing as I did my best to tend to these wounds. John would know and fix him up better when he returned the next afternoon. I doubted he would be happy with Sherlock or my covering for him, but I had made no promises and he had kindly refused to speak to me for the past two days. I stood after doctoring his wounds and returned the medical supplies to Mrs. Hudson before she left once again and went over retrieving us both some tea. Sitting down on the edge of the bed I stare into the white china cup for a while, tracing swirls in the tan liquid before daring to meet those transfixed dark eyes. He had been staring silently for a while at me and I just let it be, let him stew over what I may be thinking.

"I should have expected more people there. Moran isn't stupid, especially if given the right guides." I nod in agreement still not wishing to say anything. "I took a risk, didn't need anyone else getting hurt in my search." I set aside my cup and glare at him hostility seeping into my very being.

"You left me out of the loop, you bloody fool. Emotion isn't a crippling weakness; I could have at least watched your back. What you did was test your limits because you assumed instead of asked."

**Sherlock's POV**

She was again letting what she defined the human condition win over her senses. "You would have run to my aid without looking first."

"I would have had a damn weapon and bashed the guy's head in!" I rasped my patience gone. "You learned nothing did you? I am not a weak woman of this time; I can handle a lot more than you credit me with." He found her insults far easier to deal with than reason.

Clearing his throat he put aside the cup wincing when he covered his ribs to shift on the bed. "I knew someone that let emotion get to her and now she's gone. My 'condition' is that I don't need another death on my hands because of folly, of an idealized romantic disposition that is only brought on by some fangirlism from their own time."

Isabella stared at him hard, her eyes moving across his face before she found herself once again feeling embittered and cheated by his lack of true understanding. She seemed frozen lost in thought daring to watch him even though he had thrown harshness into her face.

**Original POV**

I lean forward watching his eyes dart across mine before looking calmly at me expecting his injured state to keep him safe. "Bravo Sherlock, you know everything and called it down the middle. There is one difference; I wasn't in love with you until I got to know you. I idealized the idea of your brilliance, not you as a human being, you as just some character. Being around you I began to find that admiration turning into something I knew you didn't understand. Now that you've made your point here's mine." I slap him across the face ignoring his bruised ego and stand from the bed.

**Later the day John Arrives Home**

I sit there at the bottom of the stairs being a true coward. I hadn't spoken to Sherlock since the incident in my room and hadn't even bothered to go to his study. Clark had come and gone though saying nothing of Sherlock's state that particular day he saved him from Lestrade's wrath. Hearing the carriage pull up to the doors I stand going out the door and see a very happy John Watson exiting the carriage however minus his bride. He's cheerful and seems far more relaxed than I was used to-at least until he looks my way.

"What did he do while I was away?" His smile faded and his whole demeanor coming down.

I study his dark suit seeing it's a hunter green in color and he has a box under his arm. I smile though I know it looks fake and allow his stern look to convince me to drop the façade.

"Do you want the short list or the long one?"

I lead the way up the stairs explaining the majority of the misadventures while John had been gone. In turn he tells me of a wonderful trip, Mary and he had been quite happy to come home and she was sorting things back at their own home for the impending trip she would have to make to Mycroft Holmes's estate. She had been unhappy about it but understood the dangers and knew she would not be left in the dark. I on the other hand would have preferred to change fates with her at the moment.

I took a seat on the top of the stairs allowing John to go in a deal with Sherlock in his own fashion and seen Mrs. Hudson offer me a sympathetic look. If she only knew the half the resentment I felt toward the man right now she would be cheering me on. I remain there staring off into space contemplating how to express the ideals of feelings to Sherlock despite the hopelessness of it. I don't know how long I sit there but it isn't long before John exits into the main hall and I hear a defined slam of the study door. Looking up I see him standing there his whole demeanor dark before he joins me on the stairs and leans against he wall.

His cranky state evidently brought on by the same person who turned me into an irrational, cranky, petulant child as of late. "He's simply become impossible. There is no place in that blasted room to sit let alone walk." I wondered what the sounds had been that I had heard since out fight. "He's destroyed his rooms."

"Why?"

John looked like he had just thrown a tantrum; everything was ruffled down to his neat suit where he was gripping his knees irritably. "I don't know Isabella, he doesn't even look like he's slept and I have no idea what he's mixed this time. The man is impossible."

"Mixed?" John nodded crossing his arms clearly upset. "Go spend some time with Mary, I'll try and drag him out of his state of mind."

"I will meet you at the fighting arena."

"Mary?" he smiled slightly before standing.

"She's visiting her parents giving me some time to reign in Sherlock." I smile at that watching him leave before glancing up at the office.

I stand walking slowly to the door and wait. I've never felt such foreboding toward entering Sherlock's study before. We had gotten along fairly decently until recent events, now I wonder if I can handle him at all and lightly tap on the door before slowly opening it. I look down wise to what John had told me and stare at the assorted piles scattered around the room. It really isn't much different than any other time, though in this case it looks like he purposely set up items like landmines. Sherlock seemed to be directing attention to anyone visiting the room. I slowly shut the door and stop in my tracks-he's shut all the blinds-I hesitate to move further in the room. I don't know exactly what is going on and knowing his tenacity for experimentation and what can come of them I don't dare move any further.

I listen intensely for some sign that he's in the room. I hear nothing and wonder if maybe his confrontation with Watson left him someplace in the room sitting in thought. I rely on other senses; I smell an assortment of chemicals which is common when he's in one of these moods where he's bouncing high on whatever he has chosen to put into his system. Among the varying smells in the room-including the lingering scent of cleaners-which Mrs. Hudson had used trying to get the animal smell from his previous jungle out; I find the underlying scent of his tobacco, spicy-the one he bought when we began the journey on the ship to England.

My eyes have adjusted to the dark but it's still a field of noise that will let him know one of us come seeking him out. I stand there crossing my arms before daring to step a couple of paces in the room-relieved I had yet to hit anything-I continue to move and just when I think I'm in the clear I feel something catch my ankle and yelp.

"Ah, thought it was you." I breathe in relief at his voice remembering that first encounter before daring to look down. "John had a rather long list of things to be upset with me over."

"I didn't tell him everything; your injuries would be the hardest to hide." My voice is tight but with irritation or uncertainty I'm not sure. "Why the landmines?"

"Why did you come?"

"John was frustrated; I offered to drag you out of your comatose state. I gather by the darkness you did this the night before?" it's easy to see the bottles around though I don't bother to read the labels. "You're going to mix the wrong thing one of these times and end up sick." His hand lowers from my ankle finally though he seems like he has little need to move.

He shifts in the darkness but I hear little out of him. Leaving him there I navigate around him seeing for the most part only by the doorway is set up to alert him to entries. I go slowly over to the far corner of the room familiar with the study and find the curtains. I'm in no mood to be pleasant and choose to go about John Watson's methods. I yank the curtains open hearing him let out a startled cry before watching him roll away from the source of light and smile-I'm not vindictive-though it is reassuring to tick him off when if fits. I move on to the next window ignoring his grumbling and open it.

"Sadist." I find the reference stinging in familiar territory but instead ignore my personal feelings on this and pause in my attack on his senses.

Instead of continuing the onslaught I feel bad for him for reasons I don't understand myself. I instead make my way over to his side and flop down on the floor reaching out lifting his head into my lap and lean over him blocking him from the light for the moment. I feel him tense before he relaxes soothed by the darkness and takes a sharp breath.

"I'm not vengeful by choice; you tend to bring out the worst in me Sherlock." I rub his temples hearing just a mutter of words that make little sense. "John wants me to drag you to the fights," I feel him move hesitantly and look down seeing his dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Mary's visiting her parents."

"I feel little need to fight." I laugh softly looking down seeing his eyes are bloodshot, though I believe he's had worse things happen. "I fail to see the humor."

"You've done nothing but fight…with me, take out some of the frustration on idiots in the ring and give us both a break." He huffs grumpily before I rub his forehead gaining his attention. "Get yourself presentable, I'll see what I can come up with for the headache." He looks up at me unconvinced of the sincerity of my commitment to helping him, nevertheless he sits up groaning cradling his head and blocking his view of the direct light.

I exit wisely going downstairs and see Mrs. Hudson busily cleaning in the entryway, I had yet to explore the rest of the house and found this part of little interest at the moment. I wished to keep my word to Sherlock even though I didn't feel he needed any sympathy for his own idiocy. I explain to her that I need something for headache relief and ask her to please bring it to his room. I go back up the stairs looking at my present attire and know that this wouldn't please anyone but myself.

I go into my room and begin to search through the items that Mrs. Hudson had been leaving in the closet and trunks. I settle on a deep burgundy colored dress and twist my hair up as best as I can on my own. I stand there for a long time wondering why I can't get through to him-answer is he's so smart he doesn't get the simplistic of things-affection being the one that I for some reason had for him. I go to the doorway and see Mrs. Hudson staring at the door to Sherlock's study, smiling I ask her to please set the tray outside and I will handle it. She clearly had no idea what she would find in there and was hesitant to enter. She comes down the hall much to my relief and helps me complete my dressing process.

I watch her move swiftly down the stairs to tend to her other duties and enter his office. I see him sitting in a chair with his hands cover his face rubbing the back of his head. I set the tray down and hand Sherlock whatever Mrs. Hudson deemed appropriate. He sips at the tea watching me with his hand shilding his eyes. I can see again I'm a source of consideration for him and do my best to ignore it. I go about attempting to move things out of the doorway at the very least so someone doesn't hurt themselves. It isn't more than a half hour later when he seems content to move.

Walking down to meet the carriage I still falter when entering one. The memory of one time of a chemical induced issue still very real in my mind. Sherlock sensing my indecisiveness puts his hands firmly on my waist and guides me into the carriage before joining me and staring out the window. I look him over trying to decide what is troubling him, it seems that his headache has eased though I see him rubbing the side of his head on occasion. Glancing out as the scenery goes by I begin to note familiarities and can see we're getting close to the place where he fights, the smell alone of the less than cleanly neighborhoods leading the way. I finally can't stand the silence and go to say something but instead pause-he's looking outside the door intensely. I know the look, it means that whatever is going on I won't like what he's seeing.

Sherlock reaches up forcing the carriage to stop. "We should walk from here." I sigh knowing I wouldn't like the look.

I follow him from the carriage stepping down on wet cobblestone and listen to the swift movement of Sherlock behind me. He grips my arm with his and begins to speedily disappear down alleyways. This is becoming common, however I don't argue knowing that he most likely avoiding confrontation with familiar adversaries. After a maze of assorted turns, crosses and alleys he stops near a familiar building. I can already hear the sounds of laughter and the crowd which means there's a fight already in action. We both stop short gathering out breath while I look around for signs of John-I didn't have to look far seeing him alert to our presence and already coming down the alley.

"What happened to you two?" I look sideways seeing Sherlock stand straight before going off into a complicated explanation and theory that we were being followed by some of Moran's men, or indirectly Moriarty's men. "They know you're alive?"

"Most likely." I turn sharply at his unworried tone.

"Why couldn't you have just stayed hidden for one week? It wasn't that much to ask of you Holmes." I guiltily lower my gaze to the grimy street unable to meet his gaze listening to him scolding Sherlock. "I don't expect anyone to keep him in line Isabella." I look up hearing his soften tone and pointedly look at Sherlock who seems unbothered by the lecture.


	12. Men & Their Vices

**Don't own anything except original characters. All material (c) to respective owners. I write these for fun and make no profit. They're just random plot bunnies that live within my strange mind**

A/N: New chapters up. Thanks for reading I appreciate it. :)

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**Chapter 12: Men & Their Vices  
**

Entering the noise filled room I watch Sherlock direct his attention to the ring and see his eyes harden looking ready to take out some frustrations. I follow John keeping close to him knowing what kind of crowd I am dealing with and feel Sherlock put his jacket into my care. He looks at me strangely amused-not a good thing-its obvious when John eyes the man taking bets and then the guy in the ring. I wonder where this is going to lead Sherlock and cringe remembering his ribs being injured.

"John did he let you examine him?"

"No, why?"

"He has broken ribs." I say feeling annoyed that he was going into the ring despite his injuries.

He moves from the betting master and toward the ring. "Holmes get out of that ring now." I come up beside him seeing Sherlock peer at us both with a gleam in his gaze stating reason is gone. "Holmes, for heaven sake you could puncture a lung, get another broken rib or worse." I stand on the edge of the ring seeing him lay aside his shirt warming up ignoring his friend.

"I don't think he's listening." I startle John reaching over the ring and attempt to grab at him, he wisely dodges me knowing how I work. "Damn you, get out of the ring." I lose my grip landing on the floor staring in at his entertained expression.

"Your attempt was brave though useless." John offers sounding worried even as we both watch the heavier man swing at Sherlock and thankfully miss. "He's fought this guy before, it won't end good because I think he injured his pride." I study this man closely, he isn't any one I'm familiar with and so assume it's an old grudge.

He's taller, wider and it looks as though more muscular than Sherlock-I know that won't stop him- John seems agitated though and that's enough for me to guess this isn't good in Sherlock condition. I watch him in the ring moving, taking hits and carefully keeping his injured side from being clipped. I cringe watching him take a sharp hit and slam into the gates before attempting to reach out and stop him from going back at it. When I told him to take out his issues in the ring, I hadn't expected him to hurt himself doing it. John's lips part and I stifle a yelp seeing Sherlock get clipped in his bad side. This guy means business and now it seems Sherlock's weakness is this idiots definition of victory.

"He won't stop now." John says grimly trying to get into the ring and being stopped by the crowd.

_"The hell he won't."_ One thing I had an advantage over was the men ignored me. Women were weak and simplistic in this time, they didn't expect me to do anything to the contrary of their belief. John gave me an inquiring look before I stepped back and sprinted forward at the wall. Jumping over it startling several observers I land inside the ring, the larger of the two men in the ring actually pause startled by my presence. Taking that to my advantage I lean down and see Sherlock giving me a murderous look.

"Get out of the ring Bella." I blink surprised by the nickname from his drunken state that night, recovering I shake my head in refusal.

"You first." He glances over my shoulder, alert to his observation and aware of the crowd sounding like they were over excited I dodge to the side avoiding his opponents grab for me.

"Get out of the ring lady, don't want a dainty thing like you hurt now." Wrong thing to say to me-I've never been nor do I feel the need to be delicate in any fashion.

Feeling offended by the idealistic fashion that I would be at all feminine I react instinctively kicking big guy in the gut-though it seems unnoticed by the crowd. Looking down I locate Sherlock holding his ribs, distinctively in pain and trying to hide it. Kneeling down seeing the big guy attempting a recovery I look into those dark orbs that look as if they loathe me right then-he probably does.

"Get the hell out of the ring now Holmes before I drag you out myself." He looking ruffled at my unpleasant tone holds his side rising to his feet.

I walk ahead of him making sure he's following before I see John look relieved and then I hear a sound that I knew well never resounded kindly with Holmes in any fashion. Going to the gates John lifts me over the barrier before allowing me to turn and see Sherlock standing there his eyes lowered and that contemplative look on his face where I know he's planning unpleasantries for the moron in the ring who decided to spit at his back.

"Worst thing to do." John said shaking his head before directing his gaze to mine. "You should not be present during-"

"His calculative demeaning way of putting the moron in his place?" he blinked at that looking astonished and then amused. "Can he do it with his ribs?"

"I don't think he cares." I watch seeing Sherlock lower from a strike intended to be something of a cheap shot and watch him slowly pull apart his opponent.

Methodically hitting his weakest points forcing the man to land hard on his back after a sharp kick to his solarplexis-glancing down it is easy to see that the other man has no idea what hit him. The surprise is drowned out by cheering and an assortment of people going to gather their winnings readying for another fight. I watch the other guys assorted drunken buddies drag him out looking disappointed by his vain effort of taking Sherlock out. Sherlock walks stifling from the ring as I grab his shirt and jacket before John comes up behind him guiding him to the stairs to the attic.

Once upstairs in the attic Sherlock is seated in a chair while John examines his side. All the while John is checking him over those dark eyes are on me, examining and inspecting me. His expression is a mix of impatience and exasperation. I get the feeling he isn't pleased with my attempt to get him out of the fight and wonder if this is going to be a discussion for John to witness or if he's going to let it go until we're safely back at Baker Street.

"That is exactly why I didn't mention my plans on that day Isabella. That was a rash decision, one like I warned you about." I look to see John glance between us looking somewhat discontent.

"That was different, I knew the situation and in case you didn't notice he felt my foot." I retort feeling the tension growing and knowing poor Watson was going to be caught in the definitive crossfire. "You wouldn't get out and I wasn't going to watch John repair a lung."

Sherlock went to say something before finding his senses and observing John staring between them. He vexed by the idea of his presence and not being able to use familiar territory as weapons sighed angrily. I smile mockingly before directing myself over to the sheets in the room and ripping them up as requested by John. While doing so I hear him demanding answers for the discussion that we were both trying to avoid. The less that knew about the future the better off we would be. Though I had been thrown by Sherlock once again hearing him point blank tell John the truth-I stop what I am doing and turn sharply seeing his dark gaze land on me, it was a deliberate move and intended to make me get involved in the verbal fight he was seeking. Mycroft knew of my past and now John, the latter didn't bother me anymore than the previous-however it may cause him some issues being a doctor to deal with it.

"What did you drink Holmes?" John finally said after a long moment of silence.

I look between them bringing John the strips of cloth and kneel down helping him to the best of my ability. "He isn't out of his mind John, though I think he's just mad enough to pick a fight with no real grasp on emotional instability known as my human condition." He looks resentful at my sarcasm. "I swear he isn't lying, that is why I even bothered to help him. I knew his story wasn't done and he had to find you. Now however I have no clue as to where this story will go." He slowly works trying to keep his friends ribs from doing more damage to himself before eyeing me skeptically. "You need some evidence since I don't have the usual tools or means?" he nods still looking unconvinced.

"It would be ideal to have some evidence, not that believing either of you is difficult?" I flinch at the cynical aspect hidden in the comment and glare at Sherlock.

"All I can offer is the fact you thought first class would be romantic for Mary and that as far as I know Sherlock didn't know she used your gun."

"Until after the fact." He looked a little more convinced but still skeptical. "Would I be permitted to see the books when we return to Baker Street?" I nod seeing Sherlock smiling smugly as if he won a battle.

"Now back to my issue with you Bella," I look up seeing John wince out of the corner of my eye before returning the dark look aimed at me from Sherlock. "You purposely got involved in the situation like I said you would. You let the admiration and emotional state cloud the viewpoint. You should not rush into situations just because you-"

"Shut up, I knew the consequences and am not going to go running into a situation half cocked. Like you say Sherlock, it was a calculated move and I knew the outcome. That moron saw a pretty little woman trying to interfere on your behalf with no concept of how frail she was. I used it to my advantage." I stand going over to the nearest beam support and hit it hard.

Gritting my teeth I find it a mild distraction to the true irritation I'm feeling at that moment. I loathe Sherlock Holmes and any affection I have for him is turning into a mindset for me to hate him. I just want to reach out and beat him, the one thing stopping me is the need to feel bad for doing it. I would give into apology and give into him regardless of my own reason. After a few minutes I hear movement off to my right and find John watching me worriedly before eyeing my hand. I nod giving him permission to inspect the damage and smile at his scolding look.

It wouldn't be the first time I bruised my fist of something so stupid and wouldn't be the last. He seemed content that I didn't break it and went over to speak with Sherlock. I hear their voices being defined but not what they were saying, personally I didn't care anymore. I had it, the emotional energy to keep up with Sherlock was undeniably draining and that was enough to make me give up. I had to give up for my own sanity and sake.

I hear John leave the room for a little bit and see Sherlock silently sitting there staring off into the darkness of the room. I hate him for punishing me for his lack of empathy-I have to forgive him to, it seemed whenever he attempted to care it blew up in his face. Slowly I approach him seeing him alert to my presence, he sniffs indignantly and looks away before I drop down kneeling beside him gently brushing aside strands of hair that were plastered to his face.

"Bella? Since when did I get a nickname?" His hand comes up catching my wrist forcefully pushing it aside.

"It got your attention, that is what I needed." I frown at his distance before moving my hand up directing him to look at me. "You blindly jumped into my battle."

"You were going to get hurt worse, that was my definition of knowing what I was getting into. You made a fine recovery after the idiot spat at your back." There it was the flicker of a smile, playing to his ego would at least gain me his attention.

I smile knowingly seeing his look fade when he realizes two can play head games. It would seem that I could get into his head if only for a moment. Before a peace can be made I move away alert to sounds near the door. Sherlock is on his feet before I can say a word and walks over eyeing the door with mistrust in his expression. I jump when the door comes flying open and see John slam it behind him. Opinions aside I have to wonder how much more trouble these two can accomplish and almost wish that Mary had kept John home.

"I don't think his friends were thrilled with your win." I stand up looking between them before seeing Sherlock sneer looking objectionable at the idea his friends were coming for revenge.

"How many are there?"

"We have a lady present Holmes." I exhale in frustration before daring to get in on this conversation.

"So what?" I lift my bruised hand reminding John that I hit hard, he looks between us before rolling his eyes. "What?"

"I thought Holmes would be the problem, no I see that I have two hardheaded people looking to end this fight the hard way. I don't have time for this, I am to see Mary off to Mycroft's estate." I look see Sherlock nod confirming this and shrug expecting him to take the lead as usual.

Seeing where his thoughts are going I move swiftly catching his arm preventing him from making John miss his farewell to his wife. "No, bad detective…we are trying to get on Mary's good side, not piss her off." He looks at me astonished by the way I just treated him like a child before John reveals the trap door escape that I was well aware of. "Yell later, go before you have both of us dragging you."

"Ladies-" I look at Sherlock effectively cutting him off and point, his sharp warning look fails and I nudge him forward watching Watson grasp his returned jacket pulling him down the stairs ignoring his reluctance.

We get outside in a known alleyway-at least for me and Sherlock-and wait for John to get a carriage. I look to my side seeing his dark eyes moving over me with a definite hostility and wonder if we will ever succeed in getting along without him blaming my emotions or my personal individual condition. Before he can start a long line of words that won't matter to me by the time we're done I go out into the open and feel a strong arm latch around my upper arm. I look up in time to see the very person Holmes made a fool of and smile as bashfully as I can-it fails-his grip tightens hard green gaze narrowing in warning at me.

I see Sherlock move out of the alley bluntly stopping before eyeing my situation. His surprise alone bothers me-since when did things come of as a shock to him? He keeps his bad side protected seeing how I'm lifted at an unpleasant angle and then his eyes narrow in dislike. I don't know if I should feel happy by his reaction or worried. Damsel in distress he was good at, this however wasn't a particular event I wished to play. John is nowhere to be seen and for the moment the large man holding me like something he could break means he is on his own.

"She knows how to kick," I smile openly at that remark though I'm sure he can't see it. "Our fight isn't finished…until I say it is." I'm impressed with his ability to form logical sent ances-wisely I keep the joke to myself. "I won't break the girls arm, if you concede to another fight…without rules." My smile fades, this wasn't a ring and Sherlock clearly wouldn't fair without some sort of rules.

"Break my fucking arm then." I snap seeing the curse gets the reaction I'm going for, luckily we had someone on our side and a sharp thwack to his head freed my arm. "Nice shot John." I look down seeing the idiot rubbing his scalp though he isn't exactly out. "Should have directed it harder and to the knap of the neck." I dodge the large hand reaching out for my ankle and feel an arm direct me against a wall.

Sherlock blocking the goon from me I peer over his shoulder seeing that he's having some trouble getting to his feet. John-much to my surprise and entertainment-takes my advice and delivers another blow with the cane. This time big bad and dense goes down to stay, Sherlock relaxes and I move around him seeing him watching the idiot on the ground before looking up seeing John's stunned look, he chuckles amused by the reaction before indicating me.

"The future holds a lot of facts that our time doesn't quite understand."

"No shit." I mutter ignoring his lift of the brow and going around the idiot now laying in dirty water among the street. "Baker Street gents?" I ask with every bit of sarcasm I can manage, both exchange looks before following me.

I move upstairs leaving them to discuss my less than lady like phrases and go to my room. Here I feel safe, here I can sort my thoughts and here I don't have to reflect on my emotional falling apart because of him. I undress, forcefully pushing my dress onto the nearest chair and move to put on a pair of pants which were mine given to me by Zimza and throw on one of the barrowed shrits. I begin to pace my room determining that the man would drive me insane long before I found any reason or sense in this world. I pause in my movement going to the window in the room and stare out across the backside of London. It's dark and not a single light is appearing in any window, I know it's late and can guess that Watson had said his goodbyes to his wife.

A light knock to my door alerts me to either Mrs. Hudson or Watson coming to see if I had been driven crazy. I smile resentfully at the thought and go to my personal bag, I reach in for my books and open the door startled enough to drop my books. Sherlock is standing there with his arms crossed looking up at the ceiling and oddly enough impatient. I don't say anything before watching him bend down retrieving my books and setting them inside on the dresser. He enters without a word and begins to pace chewing on his pipe-though I smell no tobacco-it means he's seeking his own form of rationalization.

"What do you want this time?" I ask crossly still finding my mood was far from pleasant.

Sherlock turned quickly startling me and that's when I realized I was against the wall not far enough away from his probing stare. "You are going to drive me out of my rationalizing abilities." I blink wondering what he means before it clicked.

"You already drove me crazy, come along for the ride." I move around him and walk to my bed where I flop among the mattress feeling content to ignore him.

"Women are too convoluted for my liking, you are in a whole other category on your own. To see you just easily say go ahead and break my arm, were you driven insane before or after you crossed paths with me?"

"Long before, though since being here it might have become worse." I make no move to deny I've never been stable, I had a short temper and being pushed around by anyone had never been my nature. "The credit is all mine though, you didn't drive me there."

**Sherlock's POV**

The way she seemed to dismiss every reasonable thing he threw at her had him confused and very much angry, he couldn't express what it was, he knew that it was her doing. He had never had Irene make him this frustrated, it was like Isabella enjoyed to torture him, to lead him to a dead end on every thing he wished to solve about her. A walking case that had no solution, that made him stop in mid pace and turn to see she had begun to ignore him.

"Your human condition is obtuse." She sits up on her elbows looking at him with a brow lifted and mirth in her jade gaze.

"You're saying because you don't understand why I cling to an ideal that I'm dumb?" He pulled his pipe aside directing at her.

"I'm saying your getting to involved in whatever you think is happening. I need the girl that was at the cave, not some girl that wants to have some relationship." She remains there watching him a slow curve at her lips indicating she wasn't at all phased by his reaction.

"Sorry, it happened." He seems to think things over for a long time and then realizes he has nothing left to lose. "What is it?"

"Back on the train you threatened me."

"If you kept anything significant from me, why?" He seemed calm and pulled together too suddenly for her liking.

"I believe your friend would have recovered, I think she was purposely poisoned." She sits there her eyes suspicious before widening in shock. "I believe Moran suspected her of aiding me, he didn't know where-"

**Oringinal POV**

I wasn't thinking and lunged off the bad diving at Sherlock. Both of us collide to the hard floor before he registers what I'm doing and catches my wrists. He winces recalling his injury but doesn't let his grip ease. He didn't think emotions were useful but now he was reconsidering when he saw this girl attack similiarly to Watson, though he wasn't sure if she would stop once she started.

I slowly realize that he has my wrists and that I'm getting nowhere in my attempt to beat him senseless. "You couldn't have told me this? You selfish, egotistical, unemotional, self destructive, idiotic-

"I've heard worse." His words stop me mid-rant. "I didn't tell you for your own sake,"

"You didn't tell me because it would have lead to you. That is why you wanted me to come along, you were-"

"Trying to stop another senseless death…everyone in my life has been at one time or another used or hurt or…killed. It seemed logical to bring you where I could find a way to keep you safe. Being not of this time it would be easier to contain any risk of you going off out of my sight." I sit there still reeling from what he said to me, now though I find his speech interesting despite myself.

"So you care if I get hurt?" he sat there unsure of how to respond to the soft tone.

"I don't want anyone hurt, you aren't the only specific." I believe that just maybe he's beginning to get my human condition, though he's very slow at it.

"Are you drunk?" He looks at me unimpressed by my question-I get my answer.

Shaking his head my hands go slack at my sides and he reaches down pulling himself to his elbows giving me a look. I realize I'm pinning him to the floor and glance down before flushing at the compromising position that I caused. I climb to my feet feeling confused and see him sit there for a moment. I reach down getting him to his feet and watch him hold his ribs giving me a sour look.

"Sorry about that," I indicate his injury and see him shrug clearly unconcerned.

"Goodnight Isabella." He leaves before I can ask anything else.


	13. What is Permissible

**Don't own anything except original characters. All material (c) to respective owners. I write these for fun and make no profit. They're just random plot bunnies that live within my strange mind**

A/N: New chapters up. Thanks for reading I appreciate it. :) Thanks for the reviews. I don't try to confuse when I write and apologize if it seems that way. I had hoped the POV things would help, I usually write the main characters in 3rd person so I don't get myself confused lol.

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**Chapter 13: What is Permissible  
**

I sit there through the night lost in my thoughts. Sherlock had given me a little bit of peace of mind that he did care what happened to people around. The news of Lianna's possible murder didn't set well with me all night, they had mistaken her because of the medicines she made in her own home. The herbal mistress that everyone counted on, now I lay here trying to sort my thoughts and hit nothing but a mass amount of bewilderment. He did worry in his own fashion but he didn't understand the human condition, I don't even think he got it when he had been left in the hotel room by Irene's sneak attack. I sigh softly hearing movement out in the hall and wonder if I'm hearing things. Shaking my head I roll over trying to sleep again and manage to doze off.

The next morning which seems common for him I hear him firing off questions at random before finally being aware of him sitting on the bed. Groaning I crack open one eye before reaching for my pillow and pulling it over my head. I'm grumpy in the morning and the lack of sleep didn't help. I feel my pillow removed and curse him for the effort, driven awake by his sheer stubbornness I snort in disgust.

"I have come to a conclusion that Moran's people are watching Baker Street." I finally give into the fact he isn't going away, it would most likely mean John isn't awake to listen to him. "They circle the block several times, in shifts and while that seems to be a pattern Clark and his force have yet to detect them."

"Why aren't you bothering John with this?" he glances down smirking haughtily and I can only conclude he likes torturing me. "You're the one that's sadistic, I hate morning and yet you seem fond of going and going and…what the hell have you been drinking this time?" I ask seeing his eyes are vivid and yet there is no sign of any fatigue at all is reflected in his expression.

"Something for back surgery or the like." I sink into the bed muttering unpleasantly at his fixation of drinking whatever suits him at the time. "Onto your thoughts of their presence."

"Looking to hurt you like I feel the need to do right now?" I managed though it's muffled I know it didn't pass his attention. "Go bother Watson."

"He's out gathering information from Clarke's men, already shared my process with him." I sit up finally giving him my full attention. "I should share with you as well, make you better prepaired."

"For what?" I ask finally letting my irritation in my voice. "So you can lecture me for being too emotional, for letting my human condition get in your way? Did I miss anything?" he looks down at that his eyes focusing and he finally lets his brow furrow as if confused. "You want me as distant as you can get, why tell me a bloody thing?"

He seemed to analyze what I had asked looking unsettled before leaning down close to me easing my hair out of my face. "Benefit of the doubt?" I sigh feeling like I'm dealing with some sort of a testy child. "Would you permit me to experiment to understand what you mean by lack of human condition?"

"What are you talking about Sherlock? It's too early to decipher your complexity and I didn't sleep worth a crap." I feel snappish and tired as hell, he's too confusing in the morning for my liking as it is-this particular morning worse.

"Is that permission?"

"Take it as you like." I huff watching my hair flutter about. "Can I sleep now?"

I see him lean closer again examining me far too closely. The microscope feeling prominent enough for me to stare right back, indicating I don't need to be evaluated like something he seen on the street. I crossly roll over on my back facing the ceiling under the defined impressin he isn't leaving. Staring up at the gloomy coloration I realize it's probably close nine or a little later-still not enough sleep-though the silence I am greeted with is something new. A strange feeling makes the hair on my arms prickle and me very aware that he had not moved from his seat.

_"What did I just give him permission to do exactly?"_ a little late to question his methods or my insecurities. I turn my head looking to see what he is doing and jerk startled that he's laying almost on my shoulder with his eyes closed. I hadn't expected him to remain there on the bed, choosing to ignore him I go back to sleep. I don't need to think to know he has his own issues to deal with-I will just pretend like I always do-I can't be affected.

I wake slowly groggily looking around before sitting up watching the arm that is across me slid down across my legs and remember I had unforeseen company earlier that morning. I ponder Sherlock's high rampage into my room and wonder if John succeeded in getting information on the stalkers roaming the street. Glancing around I can only guess that it is afternoon and am astonished that Watson wasn't knocking on the doors or calling out the guard looking for either of us-especially the pain at my side. I lightly poke his shoulder receiving no response and roll my eyes. He's comatose, I grip his shoulder shaking him and only receive a undefined sound for the trouble.

"Sherlock wake up, Watson's probably got Clark and half the force looking for you. I seriously doubt he would check my room." Slowly one dark eyes opens and then the other-naarrowed due to the rude awakening-however he is at least attempting to get up. "Headache?"

"No, I remember everything." I chew on that thoughtfully still wondering exactly what permission I gave him in my 'go away' state. "Watson won't have them go searching far, he probably guess that I'm locked away in my study."

"You're not though." I say seeing him focus and look up at me hovering above him. "Would he go looking? Answer, most likely and when he doesn't find you-"

I am effectively cut off when he reaches his hand slowly up touching my face and is eye level with me, after that he is kissing me. His lips softly pressed to mine slowly nipping lightly at my lip before pulling back. I stare lost for words and feel an odd warm sensation in my face. He seems to ponder my reaction before smiling a sort of spark in his dark eyes and then he's on his feet out the door before I can direct any sort of verbal ability from my mouth.

"What the hell?" I manage contemplatively, I lightly touch my lips wondering what the heck just happened before remaining there wondering if I had been the one drinking.

I climb from bed realizing that there's a pile of clothing laid out for me and see gray trousers and a deep red shirt. I gather we aren't leaving the house today and dress before ruffling my hair and avoiding the idea of pinning it up. I walk to the doorway looking out into the hall seeing no sign of anyone but can hear voices in Sherlock's office. It sounds like a heavy discussion followed by the arguing and a few unpleasant sounding thuds. I walk slowly down the hall and step to the study door looking sideways as Mrs. Hudson comes up the stairs carrying a tray of tea.

"Mr. Holmes is in there dealing with Mr. Lestrade and Dr. Watson. I believe that they're discussing the intruders roaming the street." I nod opening the door for her and slowly follow her in, the men in the room paying little attention to me.

I see Clark lingering in the corner near the doorway looking like he's weighing the options of going back to his beat or dealing with the current three way battle in the room. I choose to go join him watching him occasionally flinch when the majority of the argument fails to worry Sherlock at all. Watson is on Sherlock's side much to my surprise, this would mean that neither of the men believe that Lestrade has any idea what is going on.

"There have been two murders, both rich well to do sorts…poison, you can't seriously believe this is tied in with a dead man Holmes." Watson glances over his shoulder catching my eye and I wave to continue him on. "If you suspect Moran taking over, that's fine. I would believe that but to think he's acting on the behalf of a ghost, that's even farfetched for you. I'm not going to badger his former contacts. My advice is to look into these poison cases for your answers, there will be an increase of police stationed along the block. Don't go anywhere unattended and it would be a good idea that your lady friend be accompanied at all times by you. Good day." Lestrade turns to exit giving me a once over before calling to Clark, Clark leaves on a more friendly note bidding us a good afternoon.

"That went well." Sherlock looks up at Johns scornful tone before glancing over at me offering the tiniest of knowing smiles.

"Convincing him that a dead man is walking didn't work. It would seem I would be proof enough that it's a possibility."

"You were lucky Sherlock, you had her. I doubt she would have aide Moriarty knowing what he was capable of." I cringe at that, if John only knew me as well as Sherlock did.

"She would have taken him into town. I was lucky that she was sympathetic toward me." John turns giving me a close look and sees what he means. "She's not the type to let anyone just perish without giving them some kind of chance…a flaw, but none the less one that kept me alive." I glower at him feeling again like he was just trying to piss me off, he was succeeding too.

"Now you're getting to personal." He smirks at that moving around the desk and over to my side.

"You didn't seem to mind." I scowl crossing my arms and lean against the wall feeling irritable and still sleepy from the unrest I had the night before. "You didn't sleep well."

"My only friend was poisoned by some psychotic halfwit lap dog, so no I didn't sleep." John sensing an impending implosion of the pair started to the door. "I'm not going to go off John, continue as you were." He looks slowly my direction his eyes darting to Sherlock for confirmation but instead he seems to see what is going on and says he will go see how Clark's force is making out.

Sherlock listens to the door close and leans against the wall at my side watching me closely. I sense familiarity with the study and turn watching his eyes dart to my mouth before searching my expression for some sort of-I have no clue-but I get the impression that I'm now officially a walking talking experiment. I ignore the hand that reaches out, finger gently tracing the darkness lingering around my eyes before I look away staring out at the skyline from the windows.

"You are not useful when sleep deprived, your intelligence wavers, you overlook things and become more hostile." I shrug pretending that this isn't some sort of test for him to figure me out. "You're upset with me."

"What ever gave you that idea?" I stated seeing him begin to pull his hand back, I snap at his fingers pointedly indicating I'm not happy. "I seem to have become your own personal case to investigate. I'm not comfortable with that, it's my human condition."

"You gave me permission."

"I know that, it doesn't mean that it isn't confusing." He scans over my expression I can almost see the gears of a machine working, coming to conclusions that I won't want to hear.

"You are withdrawing your consent?"

"No, just understand that this will be odd for me at first." He looks curiously at me before nodding. "What is it with you and the tarot card?"

"It intrigues me." He said pulling it from his own pocket and eyeing it. "The concept behind it, the idealism that Zimza used it against you and you let your feelings reflect on it," I take the card in my hand and lift it between us.

"It isn't the card causing me to like you." I rip the card into pieces as fast as I can. "It just reminded me of the ones developing that would make life complicated. If I can go home, you do realize that this whole tryout will be a failure for both of us?" he looks at me hard those eyes shifting across my face for only things he can seek-I just wait for some kind of response.

He watches the pieces that scatter to the floor between us, before tilting his head in his own thoughts. I can tell he understands but he still doesn't get the meaning it will be for me. I'm a pet project for him, in this case there is sincerity in my feelings. I stand there hoping for a reaction which I know is useless, it would be my choice whether to realize the consequences and deal with them or to end this before it starts. Distraction an easy technique I see he is now focused on the remains of the card, I made my choice the day I pulled him out of the water and he led me along this journey.

**Sherlock's POV**

He looked down amazed she tore up the card, his evidence that this was brought on by some fortune teller card. She seemed truly convinced that it was her own doing, this had nothing to do with what Zimza had tried to convince her of. Intrigued by her careful destruction of the card he finds the pieces a colorful distraction at their feet.

Movement makes him look up seeing that Isabella has voluntarily moved close. He feels a hand reach around his neck and is pulled forward feeling her lips against this own. Caught off guard he catches the wall avoiding a collision feeling her hand gently steady him as she deepens the kiss, drawing on the moment before pulling back seeking air.

"Try that on for your theories." She smirks feeling oddly bold.

**Original POV**

I admit openly that I let my guard down, there was no reason to play it safe and that at this point seemed logical. I couldn't predict this story, I had to depend on the brilliance of Sherlock and his ever present friend John Watson-keeping him far away wouldn't help and I had grown to care for him. The next morning I did some errands with John at my side, learning the area quickly and remembering the descriptive details that Sherlock had given me. He either had a lot of faith in my memory or hoped I wasn't as idiot as I felt.

I felt short-tempered and had become sullen when I realized that being an idea for him to examine had been better than wondering what it may be like to care for him, to openly be content with his hand near me or his unannounced visits when he had thoughts to share. It wouldn't be quite as awkward. Today like any other it lingered heavily in my mind, I felt like a utter fool. I let myself be lead into believing I could somehow get something from this in the aftermath of his research, a test subject that thought they could win over the scientist. Sighing I lean against the wall of the carriage ignoring the bumps along the cobblestone, feeling the wind hit my face though there wasn't any comfort from it.

"What did he do Isabella?" I start from my dismal thoughts looking ahead of me-almost forgetting John's presence.

I consider answering him truthfully but falter in my decision to do so. "Can he love anyone…in the non-case solving manner?" he looks at me hard, blue gaze searching me for some answer before he smiles almost sadly.

"Did you let him convince you that he could or did you fall for the impossible one?"

I flinch but clarify knowing I won't like the answer. "The latter, though he is trying to figure out the human condition that I represent." He sat there for a few minutes considering his answer, I could see he was unwilling to be direct but I didn't like the beat around a bush.

"It's complicated to decipher Holmes," he looks reluctant but continues. "I don't know how much of a relationship he can offer, he's so obsessive that I would guess it's a puzzle for him to solve…in your case you could very well be hurt. It is your decision but it would be best not to get too involved."

"Too late, I made a more prominent indication that he could get his answers." I smile meekly seeing his brow furrow troubled by my conviction.

"I don't need the details, just remember who he is."

"That's the whole problem." I smile seeing he seems comforted but still upset by my answers. "I swear I won't do something stupid."

"Like put yourself ahead of a bullet for him?"

"Too painful." I know though that when I grow to care for someone I don't necessarily think with a clear head, Sherlock knew that but would he believe it?

**Three days**

I look up seeing John lingering in the hallway staring at the same door I had been for the past several hours. Every day we both tried to get his attention and each time had been granted no access. I began to think that he had gone stark raving mad, not unlikely with the assortment of things in his study. Mrs. Hudson had refused to let us have the key to get into the office-I think she was worried what we would find. I stand there before giving in and sliding down the door, John looks at me as if I'm some pinning girl just waiting for him-though admittedly I am.

I wonder silently if kicking in the door would be allowed-scratching that idea I favor the next best one. "Can you pick a lock John?"

"His expertise." I mope at those words glancing behind me and elbow the door with no success. "You?"

"Nope," Right as I'm about to say something the door flies open and I end up sprawling backward into the room looking straight up at Sherlock who peers down with amusement in his expression. "Never mind."

"What have you been doing in there?" John asked coming over offering me a hand up.

"Another jungle creation?" Sherlock shakes his head before saying several complicated answers-I'm sure John got it-I sure didn't and couldn't repeat what he said on a bet. "I no speak obsessive neurotic detective."

"He thinks the constant tailing is due to Moran trying to locate whoever got Sherlock well again." I look between them both before covering my face and shaking my head in disbelief. "They think it's another woman."

"They think she's alive." Sherlock stated and now I'm getting the big picture, in theory they suspect that Zimza is the one that got hi back on his feet, though she did aid us out of the country. "How is that possible? She doesn't even have dark hair Holmes."

"I never said it was Zimza."

_"Irene Adler?"_ I find my mind blown a headache threatening me now. I feel confused and now threatened by a woman that had always been part of Sherlock's life. His curiosity-me-will be easily forgotten if she's proven alive in any fashion. I knew how he worked but he had soething for her if he held on to the woman's picture. He may have been oblvious to emotional conditions but he did feel something for Irene, something more than he felt for me. I stay out of this discussion tuning them both out and return to sitting on the floor. I hear complete silence from inside the office before looking up to find John exiting looking as if he's gritting his jaw.

Upset-it means that Sherlock suggested something he didn't like. I look up smelling the hint of tobacco before realizing Sherlock is staring down at me, his face twisted in thought and a sort of bad tempered look. Reminence of John's storming off is what I guess. He kneels down beside me and attempts to get my attention, I avoid his gaze knowing that I won't like the outcome.

"You've said nothing since I appeared."

"My human condition." I reply keeping my emotions tightly wrapped and wondering why John had to disappear.

Sherlock stares for the longest time in silence, I look down the stairs hoping John will reappear before I have an emotional meltdown. His words coming back to haunt me and the idea that I let myself walk right into this situation of my own accord. Rubbing my arms I feel someone lean on my shoulder and look seeing Sherlock casually doing so as if nothing happened.

"They have wishful thinking," I listen and can see he knows it. "The only one that helped me was you, Zimza aided in our escape. Moriarty doesn't make mistakes…except for one." I wonder if he knows that he's trying to make me feel better?

"He's made another mistake." I say softly watching him glance up at me through dark hair.

"That would be?" I smile seeing he needs to sort himself out again, his stubble is significant and his dark hair looks like it could use a good combing.

"Thinking you're going to back down." There is that gleam, the arrogant and all knowing spark that is every part of Sherlock Holmes.

He is so confident sometimes it's scary, he lifts up his hand cupping my face and leans up kissing me. I smile feeling him pull back and rub a finger gently down the side of his face. He lifts a brow in interest wondering what I find so amusing and then remembers that he hasn't left his room in three days. He knows that I care little of what society thinks and he himself is comfortable to do everything against that concept. We both know there is a limit to how far John will let him go against that code. The neat and proper military man won't let it go for too long.

"Perhaps I should clean up a bit?" I smile running fingers through his stray dark locks. "You don't agree?" I shook my head amused by his actions before standing up.

"Do whatever you like," I started to leave looking down when he caught my wrist.

"Whatever I like? You leave room for a lot of possibility." I laugh pulling my wrist free and exit into the hall seeing Mrs. Hudson talking to someone in the doorway.

What Sherlock had been saying didn't register at the moment, the way she seemed to be keeping some hostile person at bay got me worried. The aggressive natures shown by how she stood blocking the door, her body acting shield like and her voice becoming harsher and more clear. I step back against Sherlock's door and hesitate on, I could go in but that would leave the kindly land lady alone. I didn't like this at all, it was unfavorable and began to unease me. When she grew more vivid with her body language I made a decision-not the wisest-but it seemed logical. I opened Sherlock's office door, he was nowhere in sight but that didn't mean much. His study was huge and I believed that his bedroom was off to the side somewhere because he could live in the thing.


End file.
